ON  THE  HEIGHTS 


A    NOVEL 


BY 

BERTHOLD     AUERBACH 

• 

TRANSLATED    BY 


NT<:W  YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 

1876 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

HENRY  HOLT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


JOHN  F.  TROW  &  SON, 

PRINTERS    AND    STEREOTVPERS, 

205-213  East  i2f/t  Street, 

NEW    YORK. 


ON    THE    HEIGHTS. 

— ™ —      pj- /£ 

BOQK    I. 

1376' 


CHAPTER     I.  f7  A  /  A/ 


EARLY  mass  was  being  celebrated  in  the  chapel  attached  to 
the  royal  summer  palace. 

The  palace  stood  on  a  slight  eminence  in  the  centre  of  the  park. 
The  eastern  slope  of  the  hill  had  been  planted  with  vineyards  and 
its  crest  was  covered  with  mighty,  towering  beeches.  The  park 
abounded  with  maples,  plane  trees  and  elms,  with  their  rich  foliage, 
and  firs  of  various  kinds,  while  the  thick  clusters  of  needles  on  the 
fir-leaved  mountain  pine,  showed  that  it  had  become  acclimated. 
On  grassy  lawns  there  were  solftary  tall  pines  of  perfect  growth. 
A  charming  variety  of  flowers  and  leaf  plants  lent  grace  to  the 
picture  which,  in  all  its  details,  showed  evidence  of  artistic  design 
and  exquisite  taste. 

The  paths  were  neatly  kept.  The  flowers  were  sparkling  with 
the  dews  of  morning ;  birds  were  singing  and  the  air  was  laden 
with  the  fragrant  perfume  of  the  new-mown  grass.  Swans,  and 
rare  varieties  of  ducks  from  foreign  lands,  were  swimming  in  the 
large  lake,  on  the  banks  of  which  the  bright-hued  flamingo  might 
also  have  been  seen.  The  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  lake  sent 
its  waters  to  such  a  height  that  they  were  lost  in  spray. 

A  clear  mountain  brook,  running  between  alders  and  weeping- 
willows,  and  under  many  a  rustic  bridge,  emptied  into  the  lake, 
flowing  thence  through  the  valley  until  it  reached  the  river,  bright 
glimpses  of  which  might  here  and  there  be  caught  through  open- 
ings in  the  shrubbery. 

Tables,  chairs  and  benches  of  graceful  form  had  been  placed 
under  the  trees  and  at  various  points  that  commanded  a  fine  pros- 
pect. 

Seated  near  the  chapel,  there  was  a  man  of  impressive  appear- 
ance. His  dress  betokened  scrupulous  care.  His  thick  hair  was 
as  \\hite  as  his  cravat.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  sparkling,  and  full 
I 


2  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

of  youthful  fire.  Re  looked  out  upon  the  broad  landscape,  the 
valley  crowded.  n:ith  fruit-trees,  the  near-lying  hills  and  the  mount- 
.,  \yhose  lh)e£  stposl  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  blue 
sky  above,  "He"  had'  a  book  in  his  hand,  but  now  laid  it  aside 
and  drank  in  the  peaceful  influences  of  the  scene  before  him. 

The  great  door  of  the  chapel  was  open,  the  mighty  sounds  of 
the  organ  were  heard,  a  soft  cloud  of  incense  floated  out  on  the 
morning  air  and  then  vanished  into  space. 

This  impressive  looking  man  was  the  king's  physician,  Doctor 
Gunther,  who,  being  a  protestant,  had  not  attended  mass. 

Just  then,  a  beautiful  woman,  earning  an  open  sunshade,  step- 
ped out  from  the  verandah  which  was  almost  concealed  by  trellised 
vines.  She  wore  a  full,  white  robe,  and  her  headdress  was  a  sim- 
ple morning  cap  with  blue  ribbons.  Her  bright,  rosy  face  beamed 
with  youth  and  beauty ;  her  hair  was  of  a  golden  hue  and  she 
seeme'd  the  very  incarnation  of  glorious  day.  » 

The  Doctor,  hearing  the  rustling  of  her  dress,  had  at  once  ad- 
vanced and  made  his  obeisance. 

"Good  morning,  Doctor!"  said  the  lady,  whose  two  female 
companions  had  kept  a  few  steps  to  the  rear.  Her  voice  was  not 
clear  and  bright,  but  suggestive  of  the  soulful  violoncello-tone 
which  is  more  properly  the  vehicle  of  intense  and  fervent  feeling, 
than  of  loud-voiced  joy. 

"What  a  charming' day !"  continued  the  lady,  "and  yet,  for 
that  very  reason,  doubly  sad  to  those  who  are  obliged  to  pass  it  in 
a  sick-room.  How  is  our  dear  Countess  Brinkenstein  ?  " 

"  Tiie  Countess,  may  it  please  Your  Majesty,  may  safely  take  the 
air  for  an  hour  to-day." 

"I  'm  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so.  Sadness  and  sickness 
should  indeed  both  be  unknown  in  this  lovely  spot." 

"The  Countess  must  regard  herself  as  doubly  fortunate,  now 
that  she  is  able  to  perform  the  interesting  duties  that  await  her." 

"Speak  softly,"  suddenly  said  the  queen,  for  the  sounds  of  the 
organ  had  ceased  ;  the  time  of  the  consecration  had  arrived.  "  Ah, 
dear  Doctor,  I  should  like  to  confide  a  secret  to  you." 

The  other  ladies  stepped  aside,  while  the  queen  and  the  Doctor 
walked  up  and  down  on  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  chapel. 

"From  one's  physician,  nothing  should  be  kept  concealed,"  said 
the  Doctor;  "Your  Majesty  credited  me,  not  long  since,  with  the 
possession  of  a  stethoscope  by  means  of  which  I  could  note  the 
movements  of  the  soul  itself." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  queen,  her  face  mantled  with  blushes,  "  I  Ve 
already  thought  of  applying  to  you  for  ghostly  advice,  but  that 
were  impracticable ;  such  matters  I  must  settle  for  myself.  But 
I  Ve  a  request  to  make  of  you  as  the  physician." 

"Your  Maiesty  his  but  to  command — " 

"No. -that  can't  be  done  in  this  instance.  What  I  meant 
was — " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  3 

At  that  moment,  the  bell  began  to  toll,  and  the  king  came  out  of 
the  chapel.  He  wore  the  simple  dress  of  a  citizen  and  was  with- 
out decorations  of  any  kind.  He  was  followed  by  the  gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  the  court,  the  former  of  whom  were  also  in  citizen's 
dress,  and,  for  the  greater  part,  wore  the  picturesque  costume  of 
the  mountaineers  of  that  region. 

The  king  was  a  man  of  stately  appearance  and  erect  bearing. 
He  bowed  to  the  queen  from  afar,  and  hastened  forward  to  meet 
her.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  composing  his  train  remained  in 
the  background  exchanging  kindly  greetings.  The  king  addressed 
a  few  words  to  the  queen,  whereat  she  smiled  ;  he,  too,  seemed 
happy,  and,  offering  her  his  arm,  led  her  towards  the  pavilion. 
The  ladies  and  gentlemen  followed,  indulging  in  cheerful  and  un- 
constrained conversation  by  the  way. 

A  young  lady,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  party,  joined  the  Doctor 
and  grasped  his  hand  most  cordially.  She  was  of  a  tall  and  grace- 
ful figure ;  her  hair  and  eyes  were  brown.  She  wore  a  simple, 
light-colored  summer  dress  and  a  loose  jacket  which  was  open  and 
revealed  the  full  chemisette.  A  leather  girdle  studded  with  steel 
buttons  encircled  her  waist.  Her  movements  were  easy  and  grace- 
ful;  her  expression,  half  earnest,  half  mischievous.  "Might  I 
ask,"  said  she,  addressing  the  Doctor,  "the  name  of  the  book 
you  've  found  worth  reading  on  this  lovely  morning?  " 

"  It  was  well  worth  reading,  although,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  've  not 
opened  it,"  replied  the  Doctor,  while  he  handed  the  little  book  to 
her.  It  was  Horace. 

"  Oh,  it  's  Latin  !  "  said  the  lady.  Her  voice  was  as  clear  and 
bold  as  that  of  a  chaffinch.  "And  this,  I  suppose,  is  your  mass." 

The  Doctor  briefly  alluded  to  the  success  witft  which  the  ancient 
writers  had  compressed  so  many  weighty  and  enduring  thoughts 
into  so  small  a  volume. 

The  party  entered  the  saloon,  seating  themselves  as  best  pleased 
them,  for  the  order  of  rank  or  precedence  was  not  insisted  on  at 
breakfast.  They  were  in  the  country  and,  with  their  uniforms,  had 
laid  aside  many.pf  the  vexatious  requirements  of  etiquette. 

There  is  nothing  more  cheerful  than  a  gay  and  unconstrained 
party  at  breakfast.  All  are  still  full  of  the  new  strength  that  refresh- 
ing sleep  has  lent  them ;  society  succeeds  to  -solitude ;  and  the 
spirits  of  all  seem  affected  by  the  soft,  dewy  morn. 

There  were  no  servants  at  breakfast.  The  ladies  waited  on  the 
company,  which  was  almost  as  free  and  unconstrained  as  a  family 
party.  The  Doctor  drank  nothing  but  tea  which  he  himself,  pre- 
pared. The  lady  with  the  brown  hair  invited  herself  to  a  seat  next 
to  him  and  poured  out  the  tea  for  him.  At  her  left,  sat  Colonel 
Von  Bronnen,  the  king's  adjutant-general,  and  the  only  one,  in 
fact,  who  did  not  seem  to  miss  his  uniform. 

The  party  seemed  in  undress,  mentally  as  well  as  physically, 
and  there  was  much  loud  and  confused  talking. 


4  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Dear  me  !  It  's  Sunday  !  "  said  the  young  lady  with  the  brown 
hair. 

Uproarious  laughter  greeted  her  remark ;  and  when  the  queen 
enquired  as  to  the  cause  of  so  much  merriment,  the  Doctor  in- 
formed her  of  the  startling  discovery  which  had  just  been  made 
by  Countess  Irma  von  Wudenort  The  queen  smiled. 

"  I  had  thought,"  said  the  king,  addressing  the  Countess  and  at 
the  same  time  lighting  his  cigar — he  was  the  only  one  who  smoked 
in  the  saloon — "that  with  you  every  day  was  Sunday." 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty,  but  only  since  I  've  had  the  honor  of  being 
here.  At  the  convent,  Sunday  was  the  only  day  on  which  we  had 
cake,  whilst  here  we  have  cake  every  day ;  and  so  I  am  obliged  to 
use  some  other  means  to  find  out  which  is  Sunday." 

Von  Schnabelsdorf,  who  had  recently  visited  Spain  on  service  of 
a  diplomatic  nature  and  was  now  awaiting  orders,  was  sitting  op- 
posite the  Doctor.  Addressing  his  conversation  to  the  latter,  he 
remarked  that  a  friend  of  his  who  lived  in  Madrid  had  written  a 
highly  interesting  work,  to  which  he,  also,  had  contributed  a  few 
ideas.  It  was  soon  to  appear,  and  its  subject  was  "  Sunday,"  or 
rather,  "The  Sabbath." 

The  king  had  overheard  his  remarks  and  inquired  as  to  what 
these  ideas  were.  Schnabelsdorf  replied  that  as  seven  corre- 
sponded with  the  quarter  of  the  lunar  month,  it  was  a  natural  di- 
vision, and  that  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath  \vas  older  than  all 
positive  religions.  He  had  apt  quotations  to  support  every  state- 
ment and  did  not  forget  to  lug  in  the  names  of  his  distinguished 
friends. 

Von  Schnabelsdorf  s  learned  discourse  failed  to  make  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  company,  which  continued  in  its  cheerful  vein  until 
the  queen  rose,  beckoning  the  Doctor  to  follow.  The  king  of- 
fered her  his  arm  and  conducted  her  to  a  lovely  seat  under  a  weep- 
ing ash,  on  the  slope  of  the  lawn. 

It  was  delightful  to  behold  this  royal  pair,  so  tall  and  stately ;  and 
the  queen  was  doubly  beautiful,  for  another  life  was  budding  with- 
in her  own. 

The  queen  seated  herself  and  the  king  sat  down  beside  her. 
Without  waiting  for  orders,  the  Doctor  drew  up  his  chair  and  joined 
them. 

"Yes,"  said  the  queen,  "I  must  speak  to  you  about  it;  I  must 
tell  you  of  a  pain — " 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  withdraw,"  said  the  king. 

"  Xo  !  you  must  remain.  Once  more,  I  ask  you  ;  if  God  grants 
-ne  health,  may  I  not  nurse  the  child  that  is  to  be  mine  ?  " 

An  almost  imperceptible  glance  from  the  king  informed  the 
Doctor  what  answer  he  was  to  make  to  the  queen. 

"  I  have  already  had  the  honor  of  acquainting  Your  Majesty  with 
my  opinion  of  the  superstitious  belief  that  the  mere  performance 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  5 

of  maternal  duties  preserves  the  mother's  beauty.  Your  wish  is 
inspired  by  a  feeling  which,  in  itself,  is  beautiful.  But,  both  for 
your  own  sake  and  that  of  the  child,  it  were  impossible  to  accede 
to  it.  The  duties  of  a  queen,  the  demands  of  etiquette,  the  need 
of  your  presence  at  court  and  the  various  emotions  which  these 
employments  must  necessarily  occasion,  render  it  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. A  high  state  of  development  has  effects  upon  the  nervous 
system,  which  effects,  being  transmitted  to  the  child,  must  cling  to 
it  for  life." 

"I  beg  you,  dear  Mathilde,"  added  the  king,  "to  avoid  distress- 
ing yourself.  Consider  the  prince's  welfare." 

"  Do  n't  always  talk  of  a  prince  !  Promise  me  you  will  be  just  as 
happy,  if  it  be  a  princess — 

"  Just  as  happy  !  No,  that  were  impossible.  I  can't  control  my 
feelings  to  that  extent.  But  this  I  can  promise  you — if  you  and 
the  child  are  well,  I  shall  be  happy  for  all." 

"  Well,  then,  let  a  nurse  be  brought ; — even  now,  I  envy  her  the 
child's  affectionate  glances  and  hearty  caresses  !  " 

"And  what  is  the  sorrow  you  were  complaining  of?  " 

"  The  thought  of  depriving  another  child  of  its  mother  troubles 
my  conscience.  Even  if  thousands  have  done  the  same  thing  time 
and  time  again,  he  who  commits  a  wrong,  sins  for  himself  and  as 
deeply  as  if  it  were  the  first  time  the  sin  were  ever  committed. 
Yet,  I  submit.  But  I  shall  insist  on  one  thing :  the  foster-mother 
of  my  child  must  be  an  honest  married  woman  and  must  belong 
to  a  respectable  family.  I  could  never  silence  my  conscience  if  I 
were  to  deprive  a  child,  already  wretched  enough,  of  its  all — its 
mother !  In  this  I  am  perfectly  indifferent  to  worldly  regulations 
and  prescribed  forms.  Is  the  poor,  forlorn  child,  born  into  a  hostile 
world,  to  be  robbed  of  the  only  source  of  love  yet  left  it  ?  And 
even  if  we  take  an  honest  married  woman,  we  will  be  depriving  a 
child  of  its  mother  and  inflicting  an  injury  upon  a  being  that  we 
do  not  even  know.  Ah  !  how  hard  it  is  !  In  spite  of  our  knowing 
better,  we  are  yet  forced  to  commit  wrong.  However,  I  shall  sub- 
mit to  necessity.  But  the  child  that  we  take  from  its  mother  will 
be  cared  for  by  her  family,  has  a  father  and,  perhaps,  even  a  kind 
grandmother  and  affectionate  brothers  and  sisters.  A  hospitable 
roof  will  shelter  its  infant  head — " 

"Your  Majesty"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  with  an  outburst  of  en- 
thusiasm, "at  this  very  moment,  prayers  are  being  offered  up  for 
you  in   thousands   of  churches,  and  myriad  voices  are  saying 
'Amen  '!" 

"Great  God,  what  duties  are  thus  imposed  !  One  had  needs  be 
more  than  human  to  bear  the  charge — it  crushes  me  to  the  earth." 

"  It  should  elevate  instead  of  depressing  you.  At  this  very  mo- 
nu-nt  the  breath  issuing  from  millions  of  lips  forms  a  cloud  that 
supports  you.  True  humanity  is  best  shown  when  those  who  are 


6  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

prosperous  r.nd  happy  and  therefore  need  no  assistance  from  others, 
protect  the  suffering  instead  of  putting  them  a\vav  from  them. 
The  effect  of  such  a  mood  upon  the  child  whose  heart  throbs  be- 
neath that  of  its  mother,  is  one  of  nature's  mysteries.  This  child 
must  needs  become  a  noble,  beautiful  being,  for  its  mother  has  in- 
stilled purest  philanthropy  into  it  before  its  birth." 

The  king,  who  had  taken  the  queen's  hand  in  his,  now  said  : 

"  And  so  you  really  know  nothing  of  the  law.  It  is  n't  merely  a 
family  law  that  the  princes  and  princesses  of  our  house  must  be 
born  in  the  royal  palace — and  for  which  reason,  we  shall  return  to 
the  city  to-morrow — but  it  is  also  a  law  of  the  court  that  the  nurse 
of  a  prince  must  be  a  married  woman." 

•  "  Great  Heavens  !  And  how  I  've  been  tormenting  myself.  In 
the  future  I  shall  think  better  of  the  customs  of  the  court,  since  I 
find  there  are  such  beautiful  ones  among  them." 

"From  the  depths  of  your  soul,  Your  Majesty  has  given  new 
life  to  this  law,"  interposed  the  Doctor,  "a  law  is  neither  free  nor 
sacred  until  it  has  become  a  living  truth  to  us." 

"Very  pretty,  and  true  besides,"  said  the  king.  He  dropped  his 
cigar,  and,. after  looking  for  it  for  a  little  while,  said  :  "Excuse  me, 
Doctor,  but  would  n't  you  be  kind  enough  to  have  cigars  brought 
for  us?" 

The  Doctor  went  into  the  house  and,  after  he  had  left,  the  king 
said  : 

"  Pray  tell  me,  Mathilde,  was  that  all  that  troubled  you  ?  I  have 
for  some  time  past,  observed  that  there  's  something  on  your 
mind — " 

"Yes,  there  is  something  on  my  mind,  but  I  can't  speak  of  it, 
until  it  becomes  an  actual  truth.  It  is  nothing  but  love  for  you ; 
pray  do  n't  ask  me  more  at  present.  You  '11  soon  know  all." 

When  the  Doctor  returned,  he  found  the  king  alone,  and  sitting 
under  the  ash.  The  queen  had  withdrawn. 

"  Was  the  compliment  you  've  just  paid  the  queen  prompted  by 
professional  considerations?"  asked  the  king,  with  lowering  eye. 

"No,  Your  Majesty.     I  spoke  sincerely  and  from  conviction." 

The  king  remained  silent  for  a  long  time,  his  eyes  resting  on  the 
ground.  At  last  he  arose  and,  moving  his  hand  as  if  putting 
something  far  away  from  him,  said  : 

"  Well,  the  queen  wishes  the  nurse  to  be  a  young  woman  from 
the  Highlands  and  of  a  respectable  family.  Is  there  time  enough 
left  for  you  to  journey  there  and  select  one  ?  Are  you  not  a  native 
of  the  Highlands  ?  That  were — but  no,  you  must  not  go  now. 
Send  Doctor  Sixtus ;  give  him  precise  instructions,  and  let  him  go 
from  village  to  village.  He  can  propose  several  and  you  can  select 
the  best  of  them  ;  the  others  can  be  sent  home  with  a  gratuity, 
and — but  act  on  your  own  judgment ;  only,  do  n't  fail  to  send  the 
Doctor  off  this  very  day." 

"Your  Majesty's  wishes  shall  be  obeyed." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 


CHAPTER     II. 

"  TTOW  radiant  you  look!"  said  Countess  Irma,  as  she  met 
.Li  the  Doctor. 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  he  replied,  "for  I  've  just  beheld  that  divine 
sight,  —  a  heart  overflowing  with  pure  love  of  its  fellow  beings  ;—  ' 
but  excuse  me  for  a  moment  !  "  he  said,  interrupting  himself  and 
leaving  the  Countess,  while  he  went  into  an  adjoining  apartment 
and  dispatched  a  telegram  to  Doctor  Six'tus,  instructing  him  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  an  eight  days'  journey,  and  to  come  to  the  summer 
palace  forthwith.  He  then  returned  to  the  Countess,  to  whom  he 
gave  an  account  of  what  had  happened. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think?  "  asked  the  Countess. 

"You  know  very  well  that  none  dare  say  you  'nay'." 

"Well,  then,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  was  far  better  in  olden 
times  ;  for  then,  royal  children  were  born  in  some  lonely  out-of-the- 
way  palace,  as  quietly  as  if  it  were  to  be  kept  a  secret  — 

The  Doctor  interrupted  her  :  "  You  are  indeed  a  true  child  of 
your  father.  For,  although  my  dear  friend  Eberhard  was  full  of 
strange  fancies  during  his  younger  years,  he  would  at  times  mani- 
fest sudden  and  surprising  diffidence." 

"  Ah,  do  tell  me  of  my  father  !  I  know  so  little  about  him." 

"  I  've  known  nothing  of  him  for  many  years.  Of  course  you 
know  that  he  has  broken  with  me,  because  I  am  at  court  ;  but,  in 
the  olden  times,  in  our  youthful,  enthusiastic  days  —  " 

"Then  you,  too,  were  once  enthusiastic  !  " 

"  I  was  ;  but  not  to  so  great  a  degree  as  your  father.  When  I 
see  you,  it  seems  as  if  his  youthful  ideal  had  become  realized.  In 
those  days,  when  I  was  a  young  army  surgeon,  and  he  a  still 
younger  officer,  we  would  indulge  in  fantasy  pictures  of  the  future, 
and  what  it  might  have  in  store  for  us.  He  never  thought  of  a  be- 
loved one,  or  a  wife,  but  would  at  one  bound,  as  it  were,  clear  all 
that  lay  between,  and  indulge  himself  with  brain  pictures  of  a 
child  ;  a  daughter,  fresh,  tender  and  lovely  beyond  comparison. 
And  now,  when  I  behold  you,  I  look  upon  his  ideal." 

"  And  so  my  father's  only  ideal  was  a  child  ?  "  asked  Irma  with 
pensive  air,  and  looking  earnestly  into  the  Doctor's  eyes,  "  and  yet 
for  all  that,  he  left  his  children  to  grow  up  among  strangers,  and 
all  that  I  know  of  him  I  am  obliged  to  learn  from  the  lips  of  others. 
But  I  do  n't  care  to  speak  of  myself  at  present,  dear  Doctor.  I 
have  a  presentiment  of  the  queen's  secret.  I  think  I  know  what 
makes  her  so  quiet  and  reserved." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  if  you  really  have  a  presenti- 
ment, —  and  that,  moreover,  in  regard  to  a  secret  of  their  majesties 
—  take  my  advice  :  Do  n't  impart  it  to  anyone,  not  even  to  the  pil- 
Irw  on  which  you  lay  your  head  at  night." 


8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  But  if  your  knowing  it  would  be  of  service  to  the  queen .' 
You  ought  to  be  her  guide." 

"  We  can  only  lead  those  who  desire  to  be  led." 

'•  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  have  an  eye  on  certain  signs.  Did  the 
queen  say  nothing  when  she  was  before  the  church  a  little  while 
ago  and  heard  the  mass  ?  Was  n't  she  startled  by  a  certain  tone  ? 
Did  n't  you  observe  a  certain  inclination — " 

By  a  motion  of  his  hand,  the  Doctor  signified  that  Irma  had 
better  stop,  and  added  : 

••  My  child,  if  you  desire  to  live  comfortably  at  court,  you  had 
better  not  try  to  solve  riddles  which  those  to  whom  they  belong 
do  n't  care  to  solve  for  you.  But,  above  all,  let  no  one  know — " 

"  Discretion,  discretion  ;  the  same  old  text,"  said  Irma,  roguishly, 
her  beautifully  curved  lips  quivering  writh  emotion. 

"You  are  of  a  creative  temperament,  and  are  therefore  out  of 
place  at  court,"  said  the  Doctor.  "You  desire  to  assert  your  in- 
dividuality, instead  of  giving  way  to  prescribed  forms  ;  but  it  can't 
be  done.  Just  observe  Councilor  Schnabelsdorf,  who  will  be  used 
up  much  sooner  than  he  imagines.  He  is  constantly  offering  or 
preparing  something  new — cooking,  roasting,  or  stewing  all  sorts 
of  interesting  information  for  his  masters — and  his  memory  is  an 
everlasting  'table,  table,  cover  thyself.'  Take  my  word  for  it,  be- 
fore a  year  goes  round,  they  '11  all  be  tired  of  him.  He  who  wishes 
to  remain  a  favorite  must  not  thrust  himself  forward." 

Irma  assented  to  this  opinion,  but  saw  through  his  attempt  tc 
change  the  direction  of  the  conversation,  and  at  once  returned  tc 
what  she  had  intended  to  say. 

"  Pray  tell  me,"  said  she  roguishly,  "when  one  takes  a  false  step 
and,  at  the  same  time,  injures  himself,  is  it  not  called  a  mis- 
step?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  tell  you  that  the  queen  is  in  danger  of  mak- 
ing a  misstep,  which  may  be  fraught  with  irreparable  injury  to 
her—" 

"I'd  prefer — "  interrupted  the  Doctor. 

"  Ah  !  you  'd  prefer.  Whenever  you  say  that,  you  Ve  something 
to  find  fault  with." 

"You  've  guessed  it.  I  'd  prefer  your  leaving  the  queen  to  di- 
vulge her  secrets  at  her  own  pleasure.  I  thought  you  were  a  friend 
of  hers — " 

"And  so  I  am." 

"  Well,  and  since  I  am  your  morning  preacher  to-day,  let  me 
give  you  another  warning.  You  are  in  danger  of  becoming  one 
of  those  ladies  who  have  no  friends  of  their  own  sex." 

"  Is  that  really  so  dreadful  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly.  You  must  have  a  female  friend,  or  there  is 
some  fault  in  your  disposition.  Isolation,  such  as  yours,  warps 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  9 

one's  character,  and,  consciously  or  otherwise,  results  in  vanity. 
If,  from  among  all  the  ladies  here,  you  can't  make  even  one  your 
friend,  the  fault  must  lie  in  yourself." 

"  But  there  's  no  harm  in  my  having  a  male  friend,  a  friend  like 
yourself." 

"  I  could  n't  wish  you  a  truer  one." 

Irma  walked  beside  the  Doctor  in  silence. 

When  they  again  reached  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  palace,  Irma 
s.i  id : 

"  Do  you  know  that  this  lawn  is  dressed  up  every  Saturday  with 
false  hay?  " 

"  Less  wit  and  more  clearness,  if  you  please." 

"Pshaw!  how  officinal,"  said  Irma,  laughing.  "Then  allow 
me  to  tell  you  that  the  queen  once  said  she  was  very  fend 
of  the  odor  of  new-mown  hay ;  and,  ever  since  then,  the  intendant 
of  the  gardens  has  had  the  lawn  mowed  at  least  once  a  week. 
But  as  stubborn  nature  won't  furnish  hay  quickly  enough,  they 
bring  some  from  one  of  the  outlying  meadows  and  spread  it  about 
during  the  night.  And  yet  they  persist  in  saying  that,  in  our  age, 
princes  are  not  deceived." 

"  I  can  find  nothing  wrong  or  laughable  in  the  matter.  The 
intendant  is  one  of  those  who  regard  themselves  as  the  pleasure- 
purveying  providence  of  their  masters  and — 

" '  Pleasure-purveying  providence  ! ' — that 's  excellent.  What  a 
happy  thought !  I  shall  hold  fast  to  that.  How  can  you  say  you  've 
no  wit  ?  Why,  you  're  brimful  of  delicious  sarcasm.  Oh  dear, 
' pleasure-purveying  providence '!"  said  Irma,  laughing  heartily; 
and  while  laughing,  more  lovely  than  ever. 

The  Doctor  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  lead  the  conversation 
back  to  the  point  at  which  it  had  been  interrupted.  Whenever  he 
attempted  a  serious  remark,  she  would  look  at  him  with  a  roguish 
expression  and  give  way  to  laughter  so  hearty  that  he  could  not 
help  joining  in  it.  But  when  he  at  last  said  that  he  had  hereto- 
fore given  her  credit  for  something  more  than  mere  occasional 
flashes  of  wit,  and  that  he  had,  until  now,  supposed  her  capable  of 
carrying  on  an  argument,  she  quickly  became  the  docile  scholar, 
willing  to  be  led  by  her  master.  And  so  skillfully  did  the  Doctor 
use  his  arguments  that  she  soon  reflected  his  thoughts  as  if  they 
were  her  own. 

A  tall  and  handsome  page,  with  an  aquiline  nose  and  raven  hair, 
approached  the  Countess. 

"My  lady,"  said  he,  "her  majesty  the  queen  awaits  you  in  the 
music-room." 

lima  excused  herself  to  the  Doctor,  whose  eyes  followed  her 
with  a  thoughtful  gaze.  In  a  little  while  the  rich  and  metallic 
notes  of  Countess  Irma's  voice  were  heard. 

"Eberhard  used  to  sing  delightfully,"  said  the  Doctor,  directing 


io  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

his  steps  towards  the  palace.  When  he  approached  the  music- 
room,  :rrl  s.ixv  that  the  canon,  who  had  read  the  mass  that  morn 
ing",  w.is  about  to  enter,  he  hesitated. 

The  morning  was  soft  and  balmy ;  nature  seemed  wrapped  in 
bliss.  Even-  plant,  even-  flower,  thrives  best  in  its  native  soil. 
Man  alone  is  constantly  creating  new  torments  for  himself.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  the  mischievous  Countess  was  right,  after  all  ? 
l>ut  why  should  the  queen  wish  to  forsake  the  faith  of  her  ances- 
tors ? 

The  Doctor  retired  to  an  arbor  and  read  his  Horace. 

Doctor  Sixtus  presented  himself  before  the  dinner  hour,  and, 
while  the  company  were  seating  themselves  at  table,  rode  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  mountains. 

That  evening — it  was  mild  and  starlight — the  court  drove  to  the 
capital ;  for  the  corner-stone  of  the  new  arsenal  was  to  be  laid  on 
the  following  day,  with  great  pomp  and  military  display. 

CHAPTER      III. 

^PHE  bells  were  ringing  merrily.  Their  sounds  were  re-echoed  by 
1  the  rugged  mountains,  and  then  floated  out  over  the  lake,  the 
smooth,  green,  glassy  surface  of  which  mirrored  the  forest-clad 
shores,  the  rocky  crags  and  the  skies  above. 

Crowds  were  issuing  from  the  church,  the  only  building  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  lake.  The  men,  donning  their  green  hats  with  the 
black  cock  plumes,  took  their  pipes  from  their  pockets  and  struck 
a  light ;  the  women  busied  themselves  with  their  dress,  adjusted 
the  pointed,  green  hats,  smoothed  their  aprons,  and  tied  the  broad 
streaming  ends  of  their  silk  kerchiefs  anew.  Following  after  the 
old  women,  who  are  always  the  last  to  leave  the  church,  there  was 
a  handsome  young  couple.  The  wife  was  tall  and  stout,  the  hus- 
band slender  and  hardy  as  a  pine.  His  appearance  showed  the 
effects  of  the  week's  hard  work.  His  pointed,  green  hat,  on  which 
there  was  no  hunter's  badge,  \vas  worn  aslant ;  he  took  off  his 
jacket  and  laid  it  over  his  shoulder,  and  then,  with  a  smile  which 
seemed  somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  his  weather-beaten  face, 
said  : 

"  Do  n't  you  see?  This  is  much  better.  Now  there's  no 
d.mger  of  your  getting  squeezed  in  the  crowd." 

The  young  wife  nodded  assent. 

A  group  of  women  and  girls  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for 
her.  One  of  the  older  members  of  the  party  said  : 

"  \Yalpurga,  you  should  n't  have  done  such  a  thing  as  \valk  all 
the  way  to  church.  You  do  n't  kno\v  how  near  you  are  to  your 
time,  and  sometimes  there  's  too  much  of  a  good  thing." 

"  It  won't  do  me  any  harm,"  replied  the  young  wife. 

"And  I  've  prayed  for  you  this  morning,"  said  a  young,  saucy 


ON  THE  HEIG 


maid,  who  wore  a  bunch  of  fresh  flowers  in  her  bosom.  "When 
the  priest  prayed  for  the  queen  and  asked  God  to  help  her  in  the 
hour  of  trial,  I  asked  myself:  What  's  the  use  of  rr.y  worrying 
about  the  queen  ?  There  are  enough  praying  for  her  without  me  ; 
and  so  I  thought  of  you  and  said,  Amen,  Walpurga  ! " 

"Stasi,  I  'm  sure  you  meant  well,"  said  Walpurga  deprecatingly, 
"but  I  want  no  share  in  it.  You  never  ought  to  do  such  a  thing. 
It  's  wrong  to  change  a  prayer  in  that  way." 

"She  's  right,"  said  the  old  woman,  "Why,  that  'ud  be  just  the 
same  as  taking  a  false  oath." 

"  Let  it  go  for  nothing,  then,"  said  the  girl. 

"It  must  be  fine  to  be  a  queen,"  said  the  old  woman,  folding 
her  hands.  "  At  this  very  hour,  in  all  the  churches,  millions  are 
praying  for  her.  If  such  a  king  and  queen  are  n't  good  after  all 
that,  they  must  be  awful  wicked." 

The  old  woman,  who  was  the  midwife  of  the  neighborhood, 
was  always  listened  to  with  great  attention.  She  accompanied 
husband  and  wife  for  a  part  of  the  way,  and  gave  them  precise 
information  as  to  where  she  might  be  found  at  any  hour  during 
the  next  few  days.  Then,  taking  the  mountain  path  which  led  to 
her  dwelling,  she  left  them,  the  rest  of  the  church-goers  dropping 
off  in  various  directions  as  they  reached  the  lanes  and  by-paths 
leading  to  their  farms.  The  children  always  kept  in  front,  their 
parents  following  after  them. 

A  party  of  girls,  who  were  walking  along  hand  in  hand,  had 
much  to  say  to  one  another.  But  at  last  they,  too,  separated  and 
joined  their  parents. 

The  young  couple  were  alone  on  the  road.  The  glaring  rays  of 
the  noonday  sun  were  reflected  from  the  lake. 

It  was  almost  a  full  hour's  walk  to  their  house,  and  they  had 
scarcely  gone  a  few  hundred  steps,  when  the  wife  said : 

"Hansei,  I  ought  n't  to  have  let  Annamirl  go." 

"  I  '11  run  after  her  as  fast  as  I  can,  I  can  catch  up  with  her  yet," 
said  the  husband. 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  n't !  "  said  his  wife,  holding  him  fast.  "  I  'd 
be  all  alone  here  on  the  highway.  Stay  here !  It  '11  soon  be  all 
right  again." 

"  Wait  a  second  !     Hold  fast  to  the  tree  !     That  's  it." 

The  husband  rushed  into  the  meadow,  gathered  up  an  armful 
of  hay,  placed  it  on  the  pile  of  stones  by  the  wayside,  and  seated 
his  wife  upon  it. 

"I  feel  better,  already,"  said  the  wife. 

"  Do  n't  talk  now,  rest  yourself !  Oh  !  dear  me ;  if  only  a 
wagon  were  to  come  along ;  but  there  's  neither  man  nor  beast  in 
sight.  Just  take  a  good  rest  and  then  I  '11  carry  you  home. 
You  're  not  too  heavy  for  me.  I  Ve  carried  heavier  loads  many  a 
time." 


12  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Do  you  mean  to  carry  me,  in  broad  daylight?"  said  the  wife, 
laughing  so  heartily  that  she  was  obliged  to  rest  her  hand  on  the 
stones,  to  support  herself.  "You  dear,  good  fellow!  Much 
obliged,  but  there  's  no  need  of  it.  I  'm  all  right  now,  and  can 
walk."  She  got  up  briskly,  and  Hansei's  face  was  radiant  with 
joy. 

"Thank  God!  Here  comes  the  Doctor,  in  the  very  nick  cf 
time." 

The  Doctor,  who  lived  in  the  neighboring  town,  was  just  turn- 
ing the  corner.  Hansei  raised  his  hat  and  requested  him  to  take 
his  wife  into  the  carriage.  He  gladly  consented,  but  Walpurga 
seemed  loth  to  get  in. 

"I  never  rode  in  a  carriage  in  all  my  life,"  said  she,  repeatedly. 

"  Everything  must  be  tried,  you  know,"  said  the  Doctor,  laugh- 
ing, as  he  assisted  her  into  the  carriage.  He  told  the  husband 
that  he  might  get  up  on  the  box,  but  he  declined. 

"I  '11  drive  slowly,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Hansei  walked  along  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  constantly 
casting  happy  glances  at  his  wife. 

"  Now  we'Ve  two  thousand  paces  from  home,  now  we  're  a 
thousand,"  said  he,  talking  to  himself,  while  his  glances  showed 
his  gratitude  to  the  Doctor,  to  the  carriage  that  was  kind  enough 
to  allow  his  wife  to  sit  in  it ;  and  even  to  the  horse  from  which  he 
brushed  the  troublesome  flies. 

"  Hansei  is  doing  the  horse  a  kindness,"  said  the  Doctor  to  the 
young  wife.  She  did  not  answer,  and  the  Doctor  looked  pleased 
with  the  husband,  whom  he  had  known  for  a  long  while  as  a  wood- 
cutter in  the  royal  forest.  Hansei  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand  and 
would  now  and  then  with  his  sleeve  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow.  His  face  was  sunburnt  and  void  of  expression  and,  as  he 
had  not  been  a  soldier,  he  wore  no  moustache.  A  shaggy  beard, 
extending  from  his  temples,  encircled  his  long  face ;  his  forehead 
•\\  as,  for  the  greater  part,  covered  with  thick,  light  hair ;  his  short 
leather  breeches  displayed  his  great  knees ;  the  clocked,  knitted 
leggings  must  surely  have  been  a  gift  from  his  wife ;  the  heavy- 
hobnailed  shoes  had  been  used  in  many  a  mountain  walk.  Hansei 
walked  along,  beside  the  coach,  with  steady  step  and  at  last  ex- 
claimed :  "  We  're  home  !  " 

T  he  little  cottage  by  the  lake  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  small 
garden  ;  an  old  woman  was  at  the  gate,  and  called  out :  "So  you 
ride  home  in  the  bargain." 

"Yes,  mother,"  answered  the  wife,  who,  with  profuse  thanks, 
took  leave  of  the  Doctor,  while  Hansei  gratefully  patted  the  horse 
that  had  safely  brought  her  home. 

"I  'in  going  right  off  for  Annamirl,"  said  he  ;  " keep  some  din- 
ner for  me." 

"  No,  let  's  eat  together ;  I  'm  hungry,  too,  "  exclaimed  the  wife, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  13 

while  she  laid  her  hymn-book  aside,  and  removed  her  hat  and 
jacket.  She  was  good-looking,  had  a  full,  round,  cheerful  face, 
and  large  plaits  of  light  hair  encircled  her  brow.  She  forced  her« 
self  to  remain  at  the  table  and  join  in  the  meal  with  her  husband 
and  mother,  but  as  soon  as  the  last  morsel  had  passed  his 'lips, 
Hansel  started  on  his  errand. 

It  was  high  time  for  Annamirl  to  come.  Before  the  chickens 
had  gone  to  roost,  the  Sunday  child,  a  screaming,  fair-haired  girl 
baby,  had  come. 

Hansei  was  quite  beside  himself  with  joy  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  He  had  not  had  a  comfortable  dinner  and  it  seemed 
a  great  while  since  he  had  eaten  anything.  It  was  ever  so  long 
ago,  for  he  had  become  a  father  since  then ;  and  it  seemed  as  if 
years,  instead  of  hours,  had  passed  in  the  meanwhile.  He  cut  off 
a  large  slice  from  the  loaf;  but  when  he  got  out  of  doors,  where 
the  birds  were  chirping  so  merrily  and  the  starlings  were  so  tame, 
he  cried  out :  "  Here  !  You  shall  have  some  too  ;  I  want  you  to 
know  that  I  'm  a  father,  and  of  a  Sunday  child  at  that !  "  He 
threw  the  soft  bread  crumbs  to  them,  and  the  crust  into  the  lake, 
saying :  "  Here,  ye  fish  who  feed  us  ;  to-day  I  '11  feed  you  !  "  He 
was  overflowing  with  goodwill  to  the  whole  world,  but  there  was 
no  one  left  on  whom  he  could  exercise  it.  He  knew  not  where  he 
should  betake  himself  to.  Suddenly,  he  spied  the  ladder  leaning 
against  the  cherry-tree ;  he  mounted  it,  plucked  the  cherries,  and 
kept  on  eating  until  he  quite  forgot  himself,  and  felt  as  if  it  were 
not  he  who  was  eating,  but  as  if  he  were  giving  them  to  some  one 
else.  He  no  longer  knew  where  or  who  he  was,  and  at  last  began 
to  fear  that  he  was  bewitched  and  would  never  be  able  to  get 
down  again.  The  telegraph  wire  ran  by  the  house  and  almost 
touched  the  cherry-tree.  Hansei  looked  at  it  as  if  to  say :  "  Go, 
tell  the  whole  world  that  I  'm  a  father."  He  was  delighted  to  see 
swallows  and  starlings  sitting  on  the  wire,  and  nodded  to  them, 
saying:  "Do  n't  disturb  yourselves,  I  '11  not  harm  ye."  And  so 
he  went  on  plucking  cherries,  and  looking  straight  before  him  for 
ever  so  long. 

Then  the  grandmother  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and 
called  to  him  :  "  Hansei,  your  wife  wants  you." 

He  hurried  down  from  the  tree,  and  when  he  entered  the  room 
his  wife  laughed  at  him  heartily,  for  his  lips  were  black  and  his 
face  was  streaked  with  the  juice  of  cherries. 

"  So  you  've  been  pilfering.     Do  leave  a  few  cherries  for  me  !  " 

"  I  '11  bring  the  ladder  into  your  room,  so  that  I  shan't  be  able  to 
go  up  into  the  tree  again,"  said  he,  and  there  was  merry  laughter  in 
the  little  cottage  by  the  lake  until  the  moon  and  stars  looked  down 
on  it.  The  lamp  in  the  little  chamber  was  kept  burning  all  night. 
The  mother  soon  fell  into  a  peaceful  and  hap^ly  slumber,  and  the 
Sunday  child  would  whimper  at  times,  but  was  easily  quieted. 


H  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  grandmother  was  the  only  one  awake — she  had  merely 
feigned  sleep — and  now  sat  on  a  footstool  by  the  cradle  of  the 
new-born  babe. 

A  bright  star  was  shining  overhead.  It  flickered  and  sparkled 
and,  within  the  cottage,  the  face  of  the  mother  was  resplendent 
with  joy  as  indescribable  as  the  radiance  of  the  star  aboAe.  A 
child  of  man  had  become  mother  of  a  child  of  man,  and  she  who 
watched  over  them  was  the  one  from  whom  both  these  lives  had 
sprung.  The  soft  air  seemed  laden  with  song  and  the  sounds  of 
heavenly  music,  and  the  room  itself,  as  if  thronged  with  flutter- 
ing, smiling  cherubs. 

The  old  grandmother  sat  there,  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand 
and  gazing  at  the  star  above,  whose  rays  fell  upon  her  face.  She 
sat  there  with  bated  breath,  feeling  as  if  transported  into  another 
world.  The  glory  of  the  Highest  had  descended  upon  the  cottage, 
and,  like  a  halo,  now  encircled  the  head  of  the  grandmother,  Wal- 
purga  and  the  infant. 

"  Mother  !  How  brightly  the  stars  are  shining  !  "  said  Walpur- 
ga,  awaking. 

"  Never  fear,  they  '11  keep  on  shining,  even  if  you  shut  your  eyes. 
Do  go  to  sleep  again  !  "  answered  the  grandmother. 

And,  until  the  day  broke,  all  lay  hushed  in  slumber. 

CHAPTER     IV. 

SEATED  in  an  open  carriage,  Doctor  Sixtus  journeyed  to- 
wards the  Highlands. 

The  Doctor  was  a  man  of  easy  and  winning  address.  While 
the  present  king  was  yet  the  crown  prince,  he  had  accompanied 
him  on  his  travels  and,  in  the  society  of  nobles,  had  improved  on 
the  light  and  graceful  manner  which  he  had  acquired  during  a 
three  years'  stay  in  Paris.  Just  as  princes  treat  their  inferiors  and 
regard  their  service  as  a  right,  so,  in  turn,  do  courtiers  abuse  those 
who  are  under  them.  The  court  doctor  had  chosea  for  his  lackey, 
one  of  the  readiest,  and  most  skillful  at  command. 

"Give  me  a  light,  Baum  ! "  said  he ;  and  the  lackey,  who  was 
•sitting  beside  the  driver  on  the  box,  handed  him  a  lighted  match. 
With  gentle  condescension,  Sixtus  offered  his  cigar-case  to  the 
lackey,  who  gratefully  helped  himself  to  a  cigar.  He  well  knew 
that  it  would  prove  too  strong  for  him,  and  that,  if  he  attempted  to 
smoke  it,  it  would  in  all  likelihood  throw  him  into  a  cold  sweat ; 
but  he  knew  also  that  it  is  a  safe  rule  never  to  refuse  a  proffered 
favor. 

The  road  was  good  and  the  ride  a  pleasant  one.  At  the  next 
station,  the  royal  horses  \vere  sent  back  to  the  king's  stables  and 
a  relay  of  fleet  postaiiorses  was  taken.  Doctor  Sixtus  had  no  need 
to  trouble  himself  about  such  Batters — Baum  knew  what  was 
needed  and  attended  to  it. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  K 

"Baurn,  where  were  you  born  ?  "  asked  the  court  doctor. 

Although  Baum  was  startled  by  the  question,  he  acted  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  it.  He  found  it  necessary  to  collect  himself  before 
he  could  reply.  His  features  were  agitated  for  a  moment,  but  he 
quickly  assumed  a  modest  and  innocent  expression. 

The  Doctor  repeated  his  question  :  "  Baum,  where  were  you 
born  ?  " 

With  a  face  expressive  of  willingness  to  serve  him  in  any  way, 
Baum  turned  toward  the  Doctor  and  said  : 

'  I  come  from  the  Highlands ;  far  over  there  near  the  border 
but  I  've  never  felt  at  home  there." 

Sixtus,  whose  question  had  been  a  casual  one,  had  no  desire  to 
enquire  further  into  Baum's  history. 

He  was  quite  affable  towards  Baum,  who  was  the  favorite  lackey 
at  court,  since  he  possessed  the  art  of  showing  by  his  demeanor 
how  highly  he  esteemed  the  exalted  personages  whom  he  served. 

"  Keep  as  near  the  telegraph  as  possible,"  had  been  the  instruc- 
tions given  to  Doctor  Sixtus.  "  Report  every  morning  and  even- 
ing where  a  dispatch  will  reach  you,  so  that  you  may  be  recalled 
at  any  moment." 

Doctor  Sixtus  looked  out  at  the  telegraph  wires,  running  through 
the  valleys  and  climbing  over  the  hills,  and  smiled  to  himself.  "  I, 
too,  am  nothing  more  than  an  electric  spark,  with  this  difference 
however :  the  master  who  has  sent  me  does  not  know  where  I  am 
going  to.  No,  I  am  like  the  spirit  in  the  fairy-tale  ;  I  bring  money 
and  luxury  to  an  invisible  cottage,  for  I  cannot  find  a  rich  peasant 
woman.  Where  art  thou,  O  noble  foster-mother?" 

He  looked  out  at  the  landscape  with  a  self-complacent  smile, 
while,  in  his  day-dreams,  various  images  appeared  and  vanished 
like  the  smoke  clouds  of  his  cigar. 

It  was  after  dark  when  they  drew  near  to  a  little  watering-place 
in  the  Highlands. 

While  they  ascended  the  mountain,  the  lackey  walked  on  beside 
the  postilion.  Sixtus  had  entrusted  him  with  the  secret  reason  for 
their  journey.  They  had  already,  in  distant  lands,  shared  in  ad- 
ventures of  quite  a  different  nature.  Baum  engaged  the  postilion 
in  conversation  about  the  life  and  ways  of  the  neighborhood,  and 
adroitly  managed  to  inquire  about  young  lying-in  women.  He  had 
found  the  right  party.  The  postilion  was  the  son  of  a  midwife, 
whose  only  fault  was  that  she  had  died  some  time  ago. 

Sixtus  was  much  gratified  by  the  hint  which  he  had  just  received 
of  how  his  mission  might  be  fulfilled.  He  would  seek  information 
from  the  midwives  of  every  village,  and,  in  order  to  avoid  being 
overrun,  would  take  good  care  not  to  let  them  know  for  whom  the 
foster-mother  was  wanted.  When  Baum  was  about  to  return  to 
his  seat,  Sixtus  quietly  called  him  and  said  :  "  During  the  whole 
of  this  journey,  you  're  to  address  me  simply  as  '  Herr  Doctor'. " 


16  0-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  lackey  did  not  ask  why,  for  that  was  no  part  of  his  business 
nor  did  he  conjecture  as  to  the  reason  ;  he  was  a  lackey  and  obeyed 
orders.  "  He  who  does  more  than  he  's  ordered  to  do  is  good 
for  nothing,"  were  the  words  that  Baroness  Steigeneck's  chamber- 
lain had  often  impressed  upon  him,  and  whatever  the  chamberlain 
sai  1  was  as  a  sacred  law  to  Baum. 

The  little  watering-place  was  full  of  life.  The  company  had  just 
left  the  table.  Some  were  talking  of  the  day's  excursion  ;  others, 
about  that  projected  for  the  morrow.  A  young  officer  in  civil  dress, 
and  a  stout  gentleman,  appeared  to  be  the  wags  of  the  assembly. 
There  were  jokes  and  laughter,  and,  in  the  background,  a  party 
were  singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  piano  that  was  out  of 
tune.  All  seemed  more  or  less  excited.  They  had  repaired  to  the 
Highlands  to  escape  from  ennui,  and,  having  arrived  there,  found 
themselves  bored  in  earnest ;  for  there  are  but  few  to  whom  the 
beauties  of  nature  afford  constant  and  all-sufficient  entertainment. 

Luckily  for  Sixtus,  no  one  recognized  him,  and  Baum,  who  was 
without  his  livery,  allowed  no  information  to  escape  him.  The 
Doctor  looked  upon  the  doings  of  the  gentry  about  him  with  a 
certain  aristocratic  sense  of  superiority. 

As  the  neighborhood  abounded  with  goitres,  he  concluded  to 
leave  without  making  further  enquiries. 

On  the  following  morning,  they  reached  a  small  mountain  vil- 
lage. Doctor  Sixtus  addressed  himself  to  the  village  doctor,  rode 
about  the  country  with  him  for  several  days  and,  at  last,  left  with- 
out having  accomplished  his  mission.  He,  however,  made  a  note 
of  the  names  of  several  of  the  parties  they  had  seen. 

His  knightly  pride  had  well  nigh  left  him.  He  had  looked  into 
the  dwellings  of  want  and  had  beheld  so  much  that  told  of  toil 
and  misen%  that  the  careless  indifference  with  which  beings  of  the 
same  flesh  and  blood  could  live  in  palaces,  seemed  like  a  dream. 
In  this  outer  world,  existence  is  mere  toil  and  care,  nothing  more 
than  a  painful  effort  to  sustain  life,  with  no  other  outlook  than 
that  of  renewed  toil  and  care  on  the  morrow. 

"A  truce  to  sentiment,"  said  the  Doctor  to  himself.  "Things 
happen  thus  in  this  fine  world.  Men  and  beasts  are  alike.  The 
stag  in  the  forest  does  n't  ask  what  becomes  of  the  bird,  and  the 
bird,  unless  it  be  a  stork,  does  n't  care  what  becomes  of  the 
frogs  \  Away  with  sentimentality  and  dreams  of  universal  happi- 
ness ! " 

The  Doctor  traveled  to  and  fro  among  the  Highlands,  always 
careful  to  keep  near  the  telegraph  stations,  and,  as  instructed,  re- 
porting twice  a  day.  He  despaired  of  accomplishing  his  mission, 
and  wrote  to  his  chief  that,  although  he  could  not  find  married 
women,  there  were  lots  of  excellent  unmarried  ones.  He  there- 
fore suggested  that,  as  it  would  not  do  to  deceive  a  queen,  it  would 
be  well  to  have  the  most  acceptable  one  married  to  her  lover  at 
once. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  17 

While  awaiting1  a  reply,  he  remained  at  a  village  near  the  lake, 
the  resident  physician  of  which  had  been  a  fellow-student  of  his. 

The  scarred  lace  of  the  portly  village  doctor  was  refulgent  with 
traces  of  the  student  cheer  which  in  former  days  they  had  enjoyed 
in  common.  He  was  still  provided  with  a  never  failing  thirst  "and 
ready  for  all  sorts  of  fun.  His  manners  had  become  rustic  and  it 
was  with  a  self-complacent  feeling  that  Sixtus  thought  of  the  dif- 
ference in  their  positions. 

Doctor  Kuinpan — this  was  a  nickname  he  had  received  while  at 
the  university — looked  upon  his  friend's  excursion  in  search  of  a 
nurse  as  if  it  were  one  of  their  old  student  escapades.  He  rode 
with  him  over  hill  and  dale,  never  loth  to  make  a  slight  detour,  if, 
by  that  means,  they  might  gain  an  inn,  where  he  could  gratify  his 
hunger  with  a  good  meal,  and  his  thirst  with  a  drop  of  good 
wine — the  more  drops  the  better. 

"So  many  of  our  customs,"  said  Sixtus,  one  day,  "are,  at 
bottom,  immoral.  For  instance,  nurse-hunting." 

Doctor  Kuinpan  roared  with  laughter  and  said  : 

"And  you  too,  Schniepel," — the  college  nickname  of  Sixtus — 
"  so  you,  also,  are  one  of  the  new-fashioned  friends  of  the  people. 
You  gentlemen,  whose  gloves  are  ever  buttoned,  treat  the  people 
far  too  gingerly.  We,  who  live  among  them,  know  them  far  better. 
They  're  a  pack  of  rogues  and  blockheads,  just  like  their  superiors  ; 
the  only  difference  is  that  they  're  more  honest  about  it.  The 
only  effect  your  care  for  them  can  have  will  be  to  make  matters 
worse.  How  lucky  it  is  that  the  trees  in  the  forest  grow  without 
artificial  irrigation  !  " 

During  these  excursions',  Doctor  Kumpan  gave  free  vent  to  his 
rough  humor,  and  was  so  delighted  with  his  wit  that  he  could  live 
three  days  on  the  recollection  of  one  of  his  own  wretched  jokes. 

Sixtus  found  himself  ill  at  ease  in  the  company  of  the  village 
doctor,  with  whom  it  was  necessary  to  keep  on  the  same  friendly 
footing  as  of  yore ;  and,  therefore,  made  an  effort  to  hasten  his 
departure. 

He  was  about  to  take  his  leave — it  was  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  Sunday  following — when  Doctor  Kuinpan  said  : 

"  I  'm  disgusted  with  myself  for  having  been  so  stupid.  I  Ve 
got  it !  Mother  nature  herself,  unconditioned  and  absolute — just 
as  old  Professor  Genitivus,  the  son  of  his  celebrated  father,  used 
to  say,  while  he  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  desk — Come  along 
with  me ! " 

They  drove  off  in  the  direction  of  the  lake. 

CHAPTER    V. 

OUNDAY  morning  had  come  again  and,  with  it,  stirring  times  hi 
O  the  cottage  by  the  lake.     Godfather  and  godmother  were  there, 


1 8  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and,  at  the  first  tolling  of  the  church  bell,  whose  sounds  floated 
on  the  air  like  so  many  invisible  yet  audible  waves,  a  procession 
moved  from  the  house.  The  grandmother  carried  the  child  upon 
a  soft,  downy  pillow,  over  which  a  white  cover  had  been  spread  ; 
following  after  her,  proudly  walked  the  father,  with  a  nosegay  in 
his  button-hole.  Beside  him,  was  the  godfather,  mine  host  of  the 
Chamois,  followed  by  tailor  Schneck's  wife  and  other  females.  A 
light-haired  boy  about  five  years  old,  and  bearing  a  two-pronged 
twig  of  hazel  in  his  hand,  had  also  joined  in  the  procession. 

"  What  are  you  after,  Waldl  ?  "  asked  Hansei. 

The  boy  did  not  answer.  Mistress  Schneck  took  his  hand  in 
hers  and  said :  "  Come  along,  Waldl ! "  and  then  turning  to 
Hansei,  she  continued:  "Don't  drive  the  child  away!  It  's  a 
good  sign  when  a  young  boy  goes  along  to  the  christening ;  the 
child  will  get  a  husband  so  much  the  sooner,  and  who  knows 
but — "  Hansei  laughed  to  find  that  they  were  already  thinking  of 
a  mate  for  his  daughter. 

While  moving  along  in  silent  procession,  they  beheld  another 
good  omen.  A  swallow  flew  directly  over  the  heads  of  the  grand- 
mother and  the  child,  whereupon  the  former  opened  her  great  red 
umbrella  and  held  it  over  herself  and  the  babe.- 

Walpurga,  unable  to  accompany  them  on  their  long  walk  to 
church,  was  obliged  to  remain  at  home.  Her  friend  Stasi,  who, 
on  the  previous  Sunday,  had  altered  the  prayer  for  the  queen  in 
Walpurga's  favor,  remained  to  bear  her  company.  Walpurga, 
seated  in  grandmother's  arm  chair,  looked  out  of  the  latticed  win- 
dow, at  the  violets,  the  buttercups  and  the  rosemary,  the  peaceful 
lake  and  the  blue  skies,  while  she  listened  to  the  sound  of  the 
church  bell. 

"This  is  the  first  time  my  babe  goes  out  into  the  wide,  wide 
world,  and  I  'm  not  with  it,"  said  she ;  "and  some  day  I  shall  go 
into  the  other  world  and  never  be  with  it  again.  And  still  I  feel 
as  if  it  was  with  me  all  the  same." 

"I  do  n't  know  what  makes  you  so  downhearted  to-day,"  said 
her  companion  ;  "  if  that  ccmes  o'  getting  married,  I  '11  never  have 
a  husband." 

"Nonsense  !  "  curtly  replied  Walpurga  ;  her  meaning  was  plain 
enough.  Soon  afterwards,  she  added  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  emo- 
tion :  "  I  fm  not  downhearted.  It  's  only  this.  I  just  feel  as  if  tl.e 
baby  and  I  had  both  been  born  over  again.  I  do  n't  know  how  it  is, 
but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  another  person.  Just  think  of  it !  In  all 
my  life,  I  Ve  never  lain  abed  so  quietly  and  peacefully  as  I  Ye 
been  doing  these  many  days.  And  to  be  lying  there  perfectly  well, 
and  with  nothing  to  do  but  think,  and  sleep,  and  awake  again, 
and  nurse  the  baby,  while  kind  folk  are  forever  bringing  whatever 
heart  can  wish  for — I  tell  you,  if  I  'd  been  a  hermit  in  the  woods 
for  seven  years,  I  could  n't  have  done  more  thinking.  It  would 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  19 

keep  me  busy  day  and  night  to  tell  you  all.  But  what  's  that  ?  " 
said  she,  suddenly  interrupting  herself;  "just  then  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  house  were  shaking." 

"  I  did  n't  notice  anything.  But  your  face  is  enough  to  give  one 
the  blues.  Let  's  sing  something.  Just  try  whether  you  're  still 
our  best  singer." 

Her  companion  insisting,  Walpurga  at  last  began  to  sing,  but 
soon  stopped.  Stasi  essayed  another  song,  but  Walpurga  did  not 
care  for  it ;  indeed,  none  of  them  were  to  her  liking  that  day. 

"  Let  's  be  quiet,"  said  she  at  last.  "  Do  n't  worry  me  through 
all  those  songs  ;  I  do  n't  feel  like  doing  anything  to-day." 

The  bells  were  tolling  for  the  third  time.  The  two  friends  were 
sitting  together  in  silence. 

At  last  Stasi  said  :  "  How  kind  it  is  of  the  innkeeper  to  let  them 
ride  home  from  church  in  his  wagon." 

"  Listen  !     I  hear  wheels.     They  can't  be  coming  already." 

"  No,  that  's  the  rattle  of  the  Doctor's  carriage.  There  he  is,  up 
there  by  the  willows;  and  there  's  another  gentleman  with  him." 

"Do  n't  talk  to  me  now,  Stasi,"  said  the  young  mother;  "let 
the  whole  world  drive  by;  it  's  all  the  same  to  me." 

She  sat  there  silently,  resting  her  head  against  the  back  of  the 
chair  and  looking  out  into  the  golden  sunlight  that  seemed  to  in- 
fuse all  nature  with  new  life.  The  grass  was  of  a  lovelier  green 
than  ever  before  ;  the  lake  glittered  with  the  soft  sheen  of  the  ever- 
changing  light ;  the  waves  were  plashing  against  the  shore ;  a 
gentle  breeze  wafted  the  odors  of  the  violets  and  rosemary  from 
the  window-shelf  into  the  room. 

A  carriage  stopped  before  the  cottage.  First,  the  loud  cracking 
of  a  whip  was  heard  ;  then,  approaching  footsteps  and,  at  last,  the 
jolly  Doctor  calling  out :  "  Hansei !  Is  there  no  one  at  home  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Stasi,  "there  's  nobody  but  Walpurga  and 
me,"  whereupon  there  was  great  laughter  out  of  doors. 

Doctor  Kumpan  entered  the  room,  followed  by  the  stranger,  who 
started  as  if  amazed.  Moved  with  admiration  by  the  sight  he  be- 
held, he  bowed  involuntarily;  but,  speedily  checking  himself,  he 
was  more  erect  than  before. 

"  Where  's  Hansei,  the  Sunday  child's  father?  "  enquired  Doctor 
Kumpan. 

The  wife  arose  and  said  that  he  had  gone  to  church  with  the 
child  and  its  sponsors,  but  that  he  would  soon  return. 

"  Keep  your  seat !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  mean  to  be  an  unbid- 
den guest  at  your  christening  dinner,  and  my  friend  here,  who  is 
also  a  man-killer  like  myself,  will  join  us." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  my  husband  ?     May  n't  I  know  ?  " 

"  The  husband  cuts  the  loaf  and  then  helps  his  wife  to  some  of 
it.  You  know  that 's  the  custom  of  the  country,  Walpurga.  We 
want  to  talk  to  your  husband  about  a  matter  of  great  importance. 


20  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Do  n't  get  frightened,  it  is  n't  a  law  affair.  AD  I  have  to  say  to 
you  is,  you  Ve  a  Sunday  child.  Perhaps  you  're  one  yourself  ?  " 

"I  am,  indeed." 

"So  much  the  better  ;  you  're  doubly  fortunate." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus,  "we  might  as  well  speak 
to  the  wife  at  once.  She  appears  to  be  a  sensible  woman  and  will 
be  glad  to  make  her  husband  and  child  happy." 

Walpurga  looked  about  her  as  if  imploring  help. 

"Well  then,"  said  Doctor  Kumpan,  taking  a  seat,  "you  may 
as  wi.'ll  let  me  tell  it.  Now,  pay  attention,  Walpurga  !  Just  keep 
your  seat  and  let  me  tell  you  a  story  :  Once  upon  a  time,  there 
was  a  king  and  a  queen.  The  king  was  good  and  brave,  and  the 
queen  was  lovely  ;  and  a  son  was  born  to  them  who  inherited  the 
father's  virtues  and  the  mother's  beauty;  it  might  have  been  a 
daughter,  but  they  would  rather  have  it  a  son.  Now  when  the 
son  was  born,  they  summoned  a  spirit  who  lived  in  the  palace,  and 
was  called  Doctor  Puck  ;  and  they  said  to  him  :  Puck,  dear  Puck, 
pack  up  your  things,  and  pack  yourself  off  to  the  mountains  as  fast 
as  you  can  ;  for  there,  by  the  border  of  the  lake,  is  a  pretty  little 
cottage  in  which  there  sits  a  mother  who  's  tidy,  strong  and  good, 
and  who  's  to  be  the  foster-mother  of  the  little  prince,  who  is  as 
good  as  his  father,  and  as  lovely  as  his  mother.  And  the  foster- 
mother  shall  have  whatever  her  heart  wishes  for,  and  shall  make 
her  husband  and  child  happy;  and  the  king  and  the  queen  and 
the  prince,  and  —  but  look  up,  Walpurga  !  look  at  this  gentle- 
man. He  's  the  kind  spirit  named  Doctor  Puck,  and  he  comes 
from  the  king  and  queen.  Do  you  understand  me,  Walpurga?" 

The  young  mother  rested  her  head  upon  the  back  of  the  chair 
and  closed  her  eyes.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  uttered  not  a 
word.  At  that  moment  Hansei  returned  with  the  sponsor  and  the 
babe.  The  mother  hurried  to  her  child  and  taking  it  in  her  arms, 
rushed  out  into  the  garden  with  it,  Stasi  running  after  her. 

"  What  's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Hansei,  casting  angry  glances  at 
the  Doctor  and  the  stranger. 

"  Sit  down,  my  worthy  Hansei,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it. 
And  it 's  well  that  you  're  here,  too,  my  good  friend  of  the  Cham- 
ois ;  remain  with  us.  The  rest  of  you  may  all  leave  the  room." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  Doctor  Kumpan  hurried  out  the 
villagers,  who  had  been  drawn  there  by  curiosity.  Then,  accept- 
ing a  pinch  of  snuff  from  the  innkeeper,  he  said  :  "  Hansei,  make  a 
bo\v  ;  you  must  know  that  this  gentleman  is  the  court  physician. 
He  's  sent  here  by  the  king,  who  wants  you  to  lend  him  your  wife 
for  a  year." 

The  Doctor's  overbearing  manner  so  enraged  Hansei,  that  he 
almost  felt  like  putting  him  and  the  court  doctor  out  of  the  room, 
And  was  already  squaring  his  shoulders  for  the  attack. 

Motioning  Kumpan  to  be  silent,  Sixtus  told  Hansei  that,  by  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  21 

king's  orders,  he  had  sought  information  in  regard  to  him,  and 
that  it  had  seemed  as  if  the  people  did  not  know  whom  to  praise 
the  most — Hansei  or  Walpurga.  Hansei  grinned  self-cornpla- 
cently,  and  now  Sixtus  acquainted  him  with  the  king's  pleasure. 

"  Many  thanks  for  the  kind  words,"  replied  Hansei,  "  I  'm  much 
obliged  to  the  king  for  his  good  opinion  of  me.  I  know  him  well ; 
I  rowed  him  across  the  lake  twice  while  he  was  yet  a  merry  lad, 
and  a  wide-awake  huntsman.  Tell  the  king  that  I  had  n't  thought 
he  'd  still  remember  me,  but  I  can't  part  with  my  wife.  I  could  n't 
be  so  cruel  to  her,  to  myself,  and,  above  all,  to  our  child." 

It  was  the  longest  speech  he  had  ever  made.  He  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow,  and  turned  towards  the  table.  He 
was  as  hungry  as  a  wolf,  and,  seeing  the  nicely  cut  cake,  took  a 
piece,  exclaiming:  "Before  I  do  it,  may  this  morsel — 

"  Do  n't  swear  !  "  cried  the  innkeeper,  taking  the  cake  from  him. 
"  Do  n't  swear ;  you  can  do  as  you  please  ;  no  one  can  compel 
you." 

"And  no  one  wishes  to,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus;  "may  I  have  a 
piece  of  cake  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  you  may  !  Help  yourself, — and  you,  ^too,  Doctor  ! 
We  Ve  wine  also.  Ah,  Doctor,  this  day  two  weeks  ago,  out  on  the 
road,  things  looked  very  serious  !  " 

There  was  eating  and  drinking,  and  with  every  morsel  that 
Hansei  swallowed,  his  face  grew  more  cheerful. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Landlord,  that  you  could  explain  the 
matter  to  him  better  than  we,"  said  Sixtus.  The  innkeeper  offered 
Hansei  a  pinch  of  snuff,  with  the  words :  "  It  would  be  a  great 
honor  to  the  village  and  to  the  whole  neighborhood.  Just  think 
of  it,  Hansei !  the  king  and  the  crown  prince — " 

"Perhaps  it  's  a  princess,"  interrupted  Sixtus. 

"Oh!"  said  Hansei,  laughing,  "and  so  the  child  is  n't  born 
yet  ?  "  But,  while  laughing,  he  thought  to  himself:  "  There  's  still 
time  to  think  the  matter  over."  Then  he  laughed  again  at  the 
thought,  for,  with  all  his  simplicity,  he  was  rogue  enough  to  deter- 
mine to  reap  the  greatest  possible  advantage  from  it  r  he  could  n't 
think  of  such  a  thing  for  less  than  a  thousand — no,  two  thousand 
— and,  who  knows,  perhaps  even  three  thousand  florins.  Hansei 
would  probably  have  gone  up  to  a  hundred  thousand  if  the  inn- 
keeper had  not  resumed  the  conversation,  and  thus  interrupted  the 
current  of  his  thoughts. 

"Hansei  's  perfectly  right;  he  says  neither  'yes/  nor  'no' ;  he 
says  nothing ;  for  here  the  wife  must  decide.  He  's  a  good  hus- 
band, and  won't  force  her  to  do  anything  against  her  will.  Yes, 
gentlemen,  although  we  're  only  simple  country  folk,  we  know 
what  's  right." 

"  It  does  you  credit  to  respect  your  wife  so,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus. 
The  innkeeper  took  another  pinch  of  snuff  and  went  on  to  say : 


22  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Of  course ;  but  after  all,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  speak  my  mind 
freely,  a  woman  's  only  half  a  man  in  reason  and  judgment, 
With  your  permission,  Herr  Court  Doctor,  I  think  we  'd  better  say 
no  more  for  the  present,  but  call  the  wife.  She  's  ever  so  good." 

Happiness  and  misery,  pride  and  humility,  were  depicted  in 
Hansei's  features. 

"Whatever  she  says,  I  '11  abide  by,"  said  he. 

He  was  proud  of  possessing  such  a  wife,  and  yet  dreaded  her 
decision.  He  pulled  at  the  buttons  of  his  coat  as  if  to  make  sure 
they  were  all  there.  At  last,  urged  by  the  innkeeper,  he  went  out 
into  the  garden  and  called  Walpurga,  who  was  still  sitting  under 
the  cherry  tree. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

AFTER  Walpurga  had  hurried  out  into  the  garden  and  had 
pressed  the  babe  to  her  bosom,  she  quietly  gave  it  to  Stasi, 
saying : 

"  Take  the  child ;  I  dare  n't  feed  it  now.  O,  you  poor,  dear 
thing !  They  want  to  take  me  away  from  you.  What  harm  have 
you  ever  done  that  they  should  treat  you  so  ?  And  what  have  I 
done?  But  they  can't  make  me  go!  And  who'd  dare  try? 
But  what  have  they  come  for  ?  Why  to  me  ?  Come  darling,  I  'm 
all  right  again.  I  'm  with  you,  and  we  '11  not  part  from  each 
other.  I  'm  quite  calm  again." 

When  Hansei  came  to  call  WTalpurga,  he  found  her  quietly 
pressing  the  child  to  her  bosom  and  kissing  its  little  hands. 

"  If  you  've  had  your  talk  out,  do  come  in." 

Walpurga  motioned  him  to  be  quiet,  lest  he  should  disturb  the 
child.  He  stood  there  silently  for  awhile ;  not  a  sound  escaped 
father,  mother  or  child  ;  naught  was  heard  but  the  starlings  in  the 
cherry  tree,  who  were  feeding  their  young.  Swift  as  the  wind  it- 
self they  would  fly  from  their  nests  and  return  again.  At  last,  the 
child,  its  hunger  thoroughly  sated,  but  its  lips  still  softly  moving, 
dropped  back  on  the  pillow. 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Hansei,  in  a  voice  far  gentler  than 
his  rough  looks  would  have  led  one  to  expect.  "  Come  in,  Wal- 
purga. There  's  no  need  of  being  rude,  and  there  's  nothing 
wrong  in  what  they  ask  of  us.  They  can't  force  us,  you  know, 
and  we  can  thank  them,  at  any  rate.  You  can  talk  to'  strangers 
much  better  than  I  can.  It 's  your  turn  to  speak  now ;  and  I  '11 
be  satisfied  with  whatever  you  say  or  do." 

Walpurga  handed  the  child  to  the  grandmother,  and  accompan- 
ied Hansei  into  the  house.  She  looked  back  several  times,  and 
almost  stumbled  at  the  very  threshold. 

As  soon  as  she  entered  the  room,  Doctor  Sixtus  came  up  to  her. 
and,  addressing  her  in  a  gentle,  insinuating  manner,  said  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 


"  My  good  woman  !  I  should  think  it  a  sin  to  induce  you  to  do 
anything  that  your  heart  condemns.  But  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  urge 
you  to  reflect  upon  the  matter  calmly  and  dispassionately." 

"  Many  thanks.  But — I  hope  you  won't  think  ill  of  me — 1 
could  n't  be  so  cruel  to  my  child."  Her  eye  fell  on  Hansei,  a.nd 
she  quickly  added,  "  Nor  my  husband  either.  I  can't  go  away 
and  leave  them  all  alone." 

"  Why,  they  won't  be  alone  ;  your  mother  's  here,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper, interrupting  her.  Doctor  Sixtus  interposed : 

"  Do  n't  interrupt  her,  if  you  please,  sir.  Let  her  speak  for  her- 
self, and  pour  out  her  whole  heart.  Pray  go  on,  my  good  woman." 

"  I  Ve  nothing  more  to  say ;  I  know  nothing  more.  Yes,  there  's 
one  thing  more.  I  've  never  been  in  service,  except  to  do  an  odd 
day's  work,  now  and  then.  I  was  born  in  this  cottage,  and  I  Ve 
lived  here  up  to  this  time,  and  't  was  here  my  husband  came  to  see 
me.  I  've  never  thought  of  leaving  it,  and  I  can't  think  of  doing 
so  now.  I  've  never  slept  in  a  strange  bed.  If  I  had  to  leave 
here  and  go  to  the  city  for  so  long  a  time,  I  'd  die  of  homesickness  ; 
and  what  would  become  of  my  child  and  my  husband  ?  I  'm  sure 
the  king  do  n't  want  us  all  to  die  of  grief." 

"  I  'd  like  to  say  a  word,  too,"  said  Doctor  Kumpan,  casting  an 
expressive  glance  at  Doctor  Sixtus.  "We  've  already  thought  of 
your  child.  You  Ve  often  wished  for  a  cow,  and  we  '11  get  you 
one  that  has  just  calved." 

"I  Ve  got  the  very  thing  you  want,"  exclaimed  the  innkeeper, 
rushing  to  the  window  and  calling  to  a  boy  outside  :  "  Go  tell  my 
man  to  bring  my  heifer,  right  away.  Be  quick  about  it !  Hurry 
yourself! — I  really  did  n't  care  to  part  with  her,"  said  he,  address- 
ing Doctor  Sixtus  and  turning  his  back  on  Hansei,  who  well  knew 
that  the  innkeeper  dealt  in  cattle  and  pigs,  all  the  year  around. 
Everything  in  his  stable  had  its  price,  and  here  he  was  acting  just 
as  if  tlie  heifer  were  a  member  of  his  family.  "  She  's  the  very 
best  beast  I  Ve  got,"  added  he,  "but  one  ought  to  give  up  every- 
thing for  his  king;  and  she  's  a  bargain  at  forty  crown  thalers." 
Then  turning  to  Hansei  he  said,  with  a  grin :  "  You  're  getting  a 
fine,  plump  little  cow — not  an  empty  hide." 

"Not  so  fast,  my  friend,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus;  "but  if  Hansei 
likes  the  heifer,  I  '11  buy  it  of  you." 

"The  mother  goes,  and  the  cow  takes  her  place,"  muttered 
Walpurga,  absently. 

"I  never  thought  you  could  be  so  foolish,"  thundered  the  inn- 
keeper. "  Why,  what  a  fuss  you  're  making  !  You  ought  to  shout 
for  joy,  and  get  down  on  your  knees  and  thank  God  !  " 

Doctor  Sixtus  quieted  him,  and  the  village  doctor  now  said 
"Joy  and  song  come  a<  no  one's  bidding;  if  Walpurga  won't  go 
with  us  cheerfully,  we  '11  look  further ;  there  must  be  others  besides 
her." 


24  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  arose,  and  took  his  hat  as  if  to  depart,  Doctor  Sixtus  doing 
likewise. 

"  How  soon  would  I  have  to  go,  and  how  long  would  I  have  to 
be  away  from  home  ?  "  asked  the  young  wife. 

Seating  himself  again,  Doctor  Sixtus  replied  :  "  I  can't  say  how 
soon,  but  you  'd  have  to  be  ready  to  go  at  a  momeni's  notice." 

"  Then  I  would  n't  have  to  go  right  off— and  how  long  would  I 
have  to  stay?  " 

"A  year,  or  thereabouts." 

"  No,  no  !  I  won't  go.  God  forgive  me  for  giving  it  a  moment's 
thought ! " 

"  Then  we  '11  take  our  leave,  and  may  God  bless  you  and  your 
child,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus,  offering  her  his  hand.  With  a  voice 
full  of  emotion,  he  added  : 

"  It  would  do  the  royal  child  more  harm  than  good  if  you  were 
to  leave  here  regretfully,  and  carry  a  constant  grief  about  with 
you.  That  the  mere  idea  pains  you  is  quite  natural.  You  could  n't, 
as  a  good  woman  and  true  mother,  have  consented  at  once,  and 
who  knows  whether  I  would  have  accepted  you  if  you  had  ?  What 
the  queen  desires  is  a  good  woman,  who  has  a  respectable  hus- 
band and  a  kind  mother ;  she  will  have  no  other,  and  has  no 
thought  of  grieving  or  offending  you.  Therefore,  if  you  can't  be 
cheerful  among  strangers ;  if  it  does  n't  gladden  your  heart  to 
think  that  you  may  benefit  the  royal  child,  and  that  the  king-  will 
be  kind  to  you,  you  '11  do  far  better  to  remain  at  home  and  not 
allow  yourself  to  be  tempted  by  the  money.  Do  n't  let  that  in- 
duce you.  No  ;  you  'd  better  not  go." 

He  was  about  to  leave,  when  the  innkeeper  detained  him  and 
said : 

"  I  Ye  only  one  word  more  to  say.  Listen,  Walpurga,  and  you, 
too,  Hansei.  You  Ye  said  :  '  No,  I  won't  go,'  and  the  answer  does 
you  great  credit.  But  ask  yourselves  what  the  consequences  will 
be?  To-day,  to-morrow,  perhaps  even  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
you  '11  be  quite  content — \vill  take  each  other  by  the  hand,  kiss 
your  child  and  say:  'Thank  God!  we  Ye  resisted  temptation; 
we  Yc  remained  united  in  poverty,  and  maintain  ourselves  hon- 
estly; we  'd  rather  toil  and  suffer  together  than  part.'  But  how 
will'  it  be  a  day  or  a  week  later?  how  thrn?  when  sorrow  and 
want  and  misfortune  come — for  we  're  only  human  after  all — and 
you  find  yourselves  helpless?  Won't  you  say  to  yourselves :  -'If 
we  'd  only  consented.'  Won't  you  then,  by  word  or  look,  say  to 
one  another :  '  Why  did  n't  you  urge  me  ?  Why  did  n't  you  decide 
to  go?  '  I  do  n't  want  to  persuade  you,  I  merely  want  to  remind 
you  of  all  you  ought  to  consider  in  the  matter." 

Silence  ensued.  The  husband  looked  at  his  wife  and  then  at 
the  ground  ;  the  wife  looked  at  him  for  awhile,  and  then  suddenl) 
raised  her  hand  to  her  eyes. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  25 

The  cracking  of  a  whip  was  heard  and  then  a  fine,  black-pied 
cow  bellowing-  loud  and  deep,  as  if  the  sound  issued  from  a 
cavern.  All  were  startled.  The  sound  broke  upon  the  silence  like 
a  ghost-call  at  noonday. 

The  innkeeper  cursed  and  swore,  and,  putting  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  abused  the  servant  for  not  having  brought  the  calf,  which 
had,  in  truth,  already  been  sold  to  the  butcher. 

The  servant  fastened  the  cow  to  the  fence,  and  hurried  home  to 
bring  its  calf.  The  cow  dragged  at  the  rope,  as  if  trying  tc 
strangle  herself,  and  groaned  and  bellowed  until  she  foamed  at  the 
mouth. 

"That  's  only  a  beast,  and  see  how  she  goes  en ! "  cried  Wal- 
purga. 

The  arrival  of  the  cow  seemed  to  dissipate  the  effect  of  the  inn- 
.keeper's  eloquence.  But  Walpurga  suddenly  composed  herself. 
Speaking  quickly,  as  if  addressing  an  unseen  being,  and  without 
looking  at  any  one,  she  said  : 

"  A  man  or  a  woman  can  do  more  than  a  beast !  "  Then,  turn- 
ing towards  her  husband,  she  added :  "  Come  here,  Hansei,  give 
me  your  hand.  Tell  me,  from  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  will  you 
be  satisfied  with  whatever  I  may  do  or  say?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  if  you  say  'no'  ?  "  replied  Hansei,  hesitating. 

"Whether  I  say  'yes '  or  'no '  is  what  I  mean." 

Hansei  could  not  utter  a  word.  Had  he  been  able  to  speak,  his 
remarks  would  have  been  very  sensible.  He  kept  looking  into  his 
hat,  as  if  there  to  read  the  thoughts  that  were  running  through 
his  head.  Then  he  took  his  blue  pocket-handkerchief,  and  twisted 
it  up  as  if  he  were  trying  to  make  a  ball  of  it. 

When  Walpurga  found  that  Hansei  did  not  answer,  she  said  : 

"  I  can't  ask  you  to  decide.  I,  alone,  can  do  that.  I  'm  the 
child's  mother — I  'm  the  wife,  and  .  .  .  if  I  go,  I  must,  and  I  'm 
sure  I  can,  keep  down  all  grief,  so  that  I  may  do  no  harm  to  the 
other  child  ;  and — and — here  's  my  hand,  sir — my  answer  is  '  yes  '." 

It  seemed  as  if  a  load  had  been  lifted  from  the  hearts  of  all 
present.  Hansei  felt  a  stinging  sensation  in  his  eyes,  and  as  if 
choking.  To  allay  this,  he  indulged  in  a  fresh  glass  of  wine  and 
a  large  slice  of  cake.  What  a  strange  day.  If  the  company 
would  only  go,  so  that  one  could  get  a  bite  of  something  warm. 
The  morning  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end. 

The  two  physicians  had  much  to  say  to  Walpurga,  who 
promised  to  keep  herself  as  cheerful  as  possible.  She  told  them 
that  when  she  had  once  undertaken  a  thing  she  would  carry  it  out ; 
that  God  would  help  to  preserve  her  child  and  that  she  would  do 
all  she  could  for  the  king's  child.  "  You  can  depend  upon  it, 
when  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind  to  do  a  thing,  I  do  it,"  she  repeated 
again  and  again. 

Now  that  she  had  decided,  she  seemed  to  have  acquired  won 
2 


26  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

drous  self-control.  Spying  her  mother,  who  was  earning  the 
child,  she  called  her  to  her,  and  told  her  of  everything.  The 
child  slumbered  peacefully,  and  was*  placed  in  the  cradle  that 
stood  in  the  bedroom.  The  grandmother  seemed  to  look  upon 
the  whole  affair  as  if  it  were  an  unalterable  decree  of  fate.  For 
years,  if  had  been  her  wont  to  allow  Walpurga  to  decide  in  all 
things,  and  in  this  case,  moreover,  the  king's  pleasure  was  to  be 
regarded. 

"  Your  child  won't  be  motherless  ;  I  understand  her  better  than 
you  do.  We  've  got  a  cow,  and  we  'II  see  that  the  child  is  well 
cared  for." 

The  innkeeper  hurried  out  and  put  the  cow  in  the  stable.  That 
closed  the  purchase  and  gave  him  a  pretty  profit.  He  was  pro- 
voked at  himself  to  think  that  he  had  not  asked  ten  thalers  more. 
He  managed  to  get  two  thalers  additional,  as  a  gratuity  for  the 
boy,  but  half  of  this  sum  found  its  way  into  his  own  pocket. 

Hansei,  who  had  in  the  meamvhile  refreshed  himself,  thought  it 
would  be  well  to  show  that  he  was  a  man.  He  enquired  as  to  the 
pay,  and  was  just  about  to  name  the  large  sum  he  had  beeft 
thinking  of,  when  the  innkeeper  returned,  and  made  it  clear  to 
him  that  the  less  he  bargained  the  more  he  would  get.  He  offered 
to  give  him  five  hundred  florins  for  the  christening  gifts  alone, 
and  told  him  that,  if  he  left  it  to  the  king,  he  would  get  all  the 
more. 

Walpurga  now  asked  what  she  would  have  to  take  with  her. 
Doctor  Sixtus  told  her  that  her  best  suit  would  be  all  that  was 
necessary. 

Many  of  the  villagers  had  gathered  before  the  window.  They 
had  heard  the  news,  and  others,  while  on  their  way  to  afternoon 
church,  stopped,  and  at  last  there  wras  quite  a  crowd.  There  was 
much  merriment,  for  every  man  said  that  he  would  gladly  let  the 
king  borrow  his  wife  for  a  year. 

Stasi  offered  to  help  the  grandmother.  It  was  not  without  pride 
that  she  spoke  of  her  being  able  to  write  a  good  hand  and  prom- 
ised to  send  Walpurga  a  letter  once  a  week,  about  the  child,  the 
husband,  and  the  mother. 

She  then  brought  the  plates,  for  it  was  high  time  they  were  at 
dinner.  Walpurga  said  that  she  would  put  all  to  rights  within  the 
next  few  days. 

"What  I  now  deny  my  child,"  said  she,  "I  can  more  than 
make  up  to  her  for  the  rest  of  her  life." 

While  she  was  thus  speaking,  she  heard  the  child  crying  in  the 
other  room  and  hurried  to  it. 

The  two  physicians  and  the  innkeeper  were  about  to  leave,  when 
the  sounds  of  a  post-horn  were  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  road 
that  led  up  from  the  lake. 

A  special  post  had  arrived.      The  lackey  whom  Doctor  Sixtus 


\      ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  27 

had  left  at  the  telegraph  station  near  by,  was  sitting  in  the  open 
carriage.  He  raised*  his  hand,  in  which  he  held  a  letter  aloft.  He 
stopped  before  the  cottage  and  called  out  to  the  crowd  : 

"  Shout  huzza  !  every  one  of  you  !  A  crown  prince  was  born  an 
hour  ago  !  " 

They  cheered  again  and  again. 

An  old  woman,  "bent  double,  suddenly  turned  towards  the  lackey 
and  gazed  into  his  face  with  her  bright,  brown  eyes  that,  in  spite  of 
her  years,  were  still  sparkling. 

"  Whose  voice  is  that  ?  "  muttered  the  old  woman  to  herself. 

There  was  an  almost  imperceptible  change  in  the  features  of  the 
lackey,  but  the  old  woman  had  noticed  it.  "  Clear  the  way,  folks  !  " 
said  he,  "so  that  I  may  alight." 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  Zenza  !  "  (Vincenza)  "  Old  Zenza  's  always 
in  the  way." 

The  old  woman  stood  there,  staring  before  her  vacantly,  as  if  in 
a  waking  dream.  She  was  shoved  aside,  and  lost  the  staff  with 
which  she  had  supported  herself.  The  lackey  tripped  over  it,  but. 
without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  hurried  into  the  cottage. 

Doctor  Sixtus  advanced  to  meet  him,  took  the  dispatch  and 
returned  to  the  room.  Walpurga  had  come  back  in  the  mean- 
while, and  he  said  to  her : 

"  It  has  happened  sooner  than  we  expected.  I  've  just  received 
a  dispatch  ;  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  the  crown  prince  was  born. 
I  am  to  hurry  off  to  the  capital  and  bring  the  nurse  with  me. 
Now,  Walpurga,  is  the  time  to  prove  your  strength.  We  leave  in 
an  hour." 

"  I  'm  ready,"  said  Walpurga  resolutely.  She  felt  so  weak, 
however,  that  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  two  physicians,  accompanied  by  the  innkeeper,  left  the 
house.  Stasi  brought  in  the  soup  and  the  roast  meat  for  the 
christening  dinner  and  placed  them  on  the  table.  The  grand- 
mother offered  up  a  prayer,  in  which  the  others  joined  ;  they  all 
seated  themselves  at  the  table.  Walpurga  was  the  first  to  take  a 
spoonful  of  the  soup  from  the  dish,  but,  finding  that  no  one  cared 
to  eat,  she  filled  her  spoon  again  and  said  : 

"  Open  your  mouth,  Hansei,  and  let  me  give  you  something  to 
eat.  Take  this,  and  may  God's  blessing  go  with  it.  And  just  as 
the  food  I  now  offer  you  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  if  I  were 
eating  it  myself,  so,  when  I  'm  among  strangers,  not  a  morsel  will 
pass  my  lips  that  I  would  n't  rather  give  you  and  the  child.  I 
only  go  away  so  that  we  may  be  able  to  live  in  peace  and  comfort 
hereafter.  I  shall  think  of  you  and  mother  and  the  child,  by  day 
and  night,  and,  God  willing,  I  '11  return  again  in  health  and  happi- 


28  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ness.  Do  n't  forget  that  God  might  have  called  me  away  in  the 
hour  of  pain  and  trial,  and  that  then  you  'd  have  been  without  me 
all  your  lifetime.  Mother,  I  Ve  often  heard  you  say  that  a  wife 
giving  birth  to  a  child  has  one  foot  in  the  grave.  I  'm  only  going 
away  for  a  year,  and  you  all  know  that  I  '11  return  the  same  Wal- 
purga  that  \  now  am.  Do  n't  let  our  parting  be  sad,  Hansei ;  you 
must  help  me  !  You  can,  and  I  know  you  will.  You  're  my  onl) 
support.  Keep  yourself  tidy  while  I  'm  gone.  You  'd  better  wear 
a  good  shirt  every  Sunday  morning,  for  now  you  can  afford  it. 
You  '11  find  them  in  the  blue  closet — on  the  upper  right-hand  shelf. 
Do  eat  something ;  I  '11  eat  just  as  soon  as  you  do.  We  need  all 
our  strength.  You  ')!  be  all  right  to-morrow,  and  so  shall  I.  But 
do  eat  something !  For  every  spoonful  you  take,  I  '11  take  one, 
too ; — there,  that's  it — but  not  so  fast,  or  I  can't  keep  up  with 
you  !  "  Smiling  through  her  tears,  she  went  on  eating. 

"And  now,  mother,"  she  continued,  "you  '11  have  no  chance  to 
Say  that  you  're  a  burden  to  us.  When  I  'm  gone,  you  can  take 
the  two  pillows  off  my  bed  and  put  them  on  yours,  so  that  you 
can  sleep  with  your  head  right  high.  That  '11  do  you  good.  If 
\ve  did  n't  have  you,  I  would  n't  dare  to  think  of  going.  Do  n't 
spoil  my  husband,  and,  when  I  come  back  again,  we  '11  fix  up  a 
little  room  for  you  where  you  can  live  as  well  as  the  first  farmer's 
wife  in  the  land." 

They  let  her  do  all  the  talking,  and  when  she  said :  "  Do  say 
something,  Hansei,"  he  replied:  "You  'd  better  keep  on  talking. 
I  can  hear  my  voice  any  time ;  but  it  '11  be  a  long  while  before  I 
listen  to  yours  again.  Who  knows  but — 

He  was  about  to  take  a  piece  of  meat,  but  he  put  it  back  on  the 
plate.  He  could  not  eat  another  morsel ;  nor  could  the  others. 
The  grandmother  arose  and  said  grace. 

Time  flew  by.  A  coach  drove  up  to  the  door.  The  lackey  was 
the  only  one  seated  in  it ;  the  gentlemen  intended  to  follow  shortly 
after.  Baum  speedily  found  himself  on  a  familiar  footing  with 
Hansei.  The  first  step  towards  their  intimacy  was  the  offer  of  a 
good  cigar.  He  said  that  he  envied  Hansei's  luck  in  having  such  a 
wife,  and  in  being  so  fortunate  into  the  bargain.  Hansei  felt 
greatly  flattered.  Doctor  Sixtus  gave  orders  that  some  bed 
cushions  should  be  placed  in  the  coach,  so  that  Walpurga  might 
be  comfortable  and  well  protected  against  the  night  air. 

"  Do  you  ride  all  night  ?  "  enquired  Hansei. 

"O  no !     We  shall  reach  the  capital  by  midnight." 

"But  your  fast  driving  may  hurt  my  wife." 

"Do  n't  let  that  worn*  you.  Your  wife  will  be  as  well  taken 
care  of  as  the  queen  herself." 

"I  do  n't  know  how  it  is,  but  when  I  look  at  this  gentleman 
and  hear  him  talk."  said  Hansei,  looking  Baum  straight  in  the  face, 
"  I  feel  ever  so  queer." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  29 

"How  so?     Do  I  look  so  terrible?" 

"  God  forbid  !  No,  indeed  !  But  the  one  I  'm  thinking  of  was 
a  good-for-nothing  fellow.  No  offense,  I  assure  you.  But  old 
Zenza — there  she  is  at  the  garden  gate,  watching  us — had  twins. 
One  is  named  Thomas  and  the  other  was  Wolfgang,  or  Jangerl,  as 
they  say  hereabouts.  Well,  Jangerl  joined  the  soldiers  and  went 
to  America.  It  must  have  been  some  thirteen  or  fourteen  years 
ago,  and  no  one  has  ever  heard  of  him  since,  and  really — but  you 
won't  think  ill  of  what  I  say?  " 

"Of  course  not!     Go  on." 

"Well,  Jangerl  looked  just  like  you  to  the  very  hair.  No,  not 
the  hair,  for  his  was  red  and  his  face  was  n't  as  fine  as  yours, 
either ;  but  taking  it  all  together,  just  as  the  devil  takes  the  farm- 
ers"— Hansei  was  delighted  with  his  joke,  and  the  lackey  joined 
in  his  laughter — "one  might  say  that  you  look  like  each  other. 
But  you  're  sure  you  're  not  angry  at  what  I  Ve  said  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Baum,  looking  at  his  watch.  The  clock  in 
the  church  steeple  was  just  striking  five,  and  he  said :  "  There  's 
a  difference  of  exactly  one  hour  between  your  clock  and  that  at 
the  capital.  Did  this  house  belong  to  your  parents?  " 

"  No,  I  got  it  with  my  wife.  That  's  to  say,  we  still  owe  a 
mortgage  of  two  hundred  florins  on  it,  but  the  farmer  who  holds 
it,  does  n't  press  us." 

"Your  wife  can  buy  you  another  house,  and  you  ought  to  con- 
sider yourself  lucky  to  have  so  goodlooking  a  wife." 

"  Yes,  and  that  's  what  makes  me  sorry  to  give  her  up,"  com- 
plained Hansei.  "However,  there  are  only  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days  in  a  year — but  that  's  a  good  many,  after  all." 

"And  as  many  nights  in  the  bargain,"  said  Baum,  laughing. 
Poor  Hansei  shuddered. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  said  he.  He  felt  that  politeness  required  an 
answer  on  his  part. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Walpurga  had  asked  her  mother  and  Stasi 
to  leave  her  alone  with  the  child.  She  was  kneeling  beside  the 
cradle  and  wetted  the  pillow  with  her  tears.  She  kissed  the  child, 
the  coverlet,  and  cradle,  and  then,  getting  up,  said :  "  Farewell ! 
A  thousand  times,  farewell ! "  She  had  dried  her  tears,  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  room,  when  the  door  opened  from  without  and 
her  mother  entered. 

"I  '11  help  you,"  said  she.  "You  '11  be  either  twice  as  happy, 
or  twice  as  miserable,  when  you  return,  and  will  make  us  just  as 
happ;  or  as  miserable  as  you  are." 

Then  she  took  Walpurga's  left  hand  in  hers,  and,  in  a  command- 
ing voice,  said  :  "  Put  your  right  hand  on  your  child's  head  !  " 

"What 's  that  for,  mother?  " 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you.  Swear  by  your  child's  head  and  by  the  hand 
I  hold  in  mine,  that  you  '11  remain  good  and  pure,  no  matter  what 


»f>  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

•.v-vnptations  may  assail  you.  Remember  you  're  a  wife,  a  mother 
-  Daughter  !  Do  you  swear  this  with  all  your  heart  ?  " 

•  I  do,  mother,  so  help  me  God  !  But  there  's  no  need  of  such 
an  oath." 

••  Very  well,"  said  the  mother.  "Now  walk  around  the  cradle 
three  times  with  your  face  turned  from  it.  I  '11  lead  you  ;  do  n't 
stumble.  Now  you  've  taken  the  child's  homesickness  from  it  and 
I  '11  take  good  care  of  it.  Take  my  word  for  that." 

She  then  led  Walpurga  into  the  room  and,  handing  her  the 
great  loaf  of  bread  and  the  knife,  said  :  . 

"  Cut  a  piece  for  yourself,  before  you  go.  May  God  bless  it  for 
your  sake,  and  when  you  've  reached  your  journey's  end,  let  the 
bread  that  you  've  brought  from  home  be  the  first  morsel  you  eat. 
That  '11  kill  the  feeling  of  strangeness ;  and  now,  farewell." 

They  remained  there  in  silence,  holding  each  other  by  the  hand. 

Walpurga  found  it  wondrous  strange  that  Hansei  was  walking 
about  in  the  garden  with  the  lackey  and  forgetting  her.  Just  then, 
he  went  up  the  ladder  to  get  him  some  cherries,  and  was  smoking 
incessantly  ;  after  that,  he  took  him  into  the  stable,  where  the  cow 
had  been  placed. 

The  two  physicians  had  returned,  and  Hansei  had  to  be  called 
into  the  room,  for  it  was  here,  and  not  out  of  doors  in  the  presence 
of  the  crowd,  that  the  wife  wished  to  take  leave  of  her  husband. 
Doctor  Sixtus  put  a  roll  of  crown  thalers  in  Hansei's  pocket. 
After  that,  Hansei  constantly  kept  his  hand  there,  and  was  loth  to 
remove  it. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Hansei,"  said  Walpurga. 

He  loosened  his  grasp  of  the  money  and  gave  her  his  hand. 

"  Farewell,  dear  Hansei,  and  be  a  good  man.  I  '11  remain  a 
good  wife.  .  .  .  And  now,  God  keep  you,  all  of  you  !  " 

She  kissed  her  mother  and  Stasi,  and  then,  without  once  looking 
back,  she  hurried  through  the  garden  and  seated  herself  in  the 
carriage. 

The  cow  in  the  stable  bellowed  and  groaned,  but  the  sounds 
were  drowned  by  the  postilion's  fanfare. 

During  all  this,  old  Zenza  had  been  leaning  against  the  garden 
gate ;  at  times  passing  her  hand  over  her  face  and  rubbing  her 
bright  and  sparkling  eyes.  And  now,  when  the  lackey  passed  her 
she  stared  at  him  so,  that  he  asked,  in  a  rough  and  yet  not  unkind 
voice : 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  mother?  " 

"Yes  ;  I  'm  old,  and  a  mother  in  the  bargain.  Hi-hi-hi !  "  said 
she,  laughing,  and  the  crowd  hinted  to  the  lackey  that  her  mind 
often  wandered. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  want  ?  "  asked  the  lackey  again. 

'•Of  course  there  is,  if  you  '11  give  it  to  me." 

With  trembling  hand,  the  lackey  drew  the  large  purse  from  his 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  31 

pocket,  and  took  out  a  piece  of  gold.  But  no,  that  might  betray 
him.  After  fumbling  with  the  money  a  long  while,  he  at  last  gave 
the  gold  piece  to  the  old  woman,  and  said : 

"This  is  from  the  k:ng." 

He  mounted  the  box  and  never  looked  back  again.  The  coacli 
started  off. 

People  came  up  to  Zenza  and  asked  her  to  show  them  what  sne 
had  received,  but  her  hand  was  closed  as  with  a  convulsive  gmsp. 
Without  answering,  she  went  away,  supporting  herself  upon  her 
staff. 

She  walked  on,  constantly  looking  at  the  ruts  that  the  carriage 
wheels  had  made  in  the  road,  and  those  who  passed  her  could 
hear  her  muttering  unintelligibly.  Her  staff  was  in  her  right  hand, 
and  with  her  left  she  still  clutched  the  gold  piece. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

rPHE  carriage  moved  along  the  road  by  the  lake,  and,  at  last, 
1  turning  the  corner  at  the  stonepile,  was  out  of  sight.  The 
hay  on  which  Walpurga  had  rested  a  fortnight  before  was  still  ly- 
ing in  the  same  place. 

They  passed  a  handsome  girl,  dressed  in  once  genteel,  but  now 
shabby,  finery.  She  was  of  a  powerful  frame,  tawny  complexion, 
and  her  blue  black  hair  was  braided  in  thick  plaits.  She  stared  at 
Walpurga,  but  did  not  greet  her  until  after  she  had  passed. 

"  That 's  the  daughter  of  the  old  woman  you  gave  a  present 
to,"  said  Walpurga,  addressing  the  lackey.  "She  goes  by  the 
name  of  Black  Esther.  If  the  mother  does  n't  bury  the  money 
out  of  sight,  she  '11  surely  take  it  from  her." 

Although  Baum  turned  towards  Walpurga,  he  was  not  looking 
at  her,  but  at  the  girl,  who  was  no  other  than  his  sister.  A  little 
while  ago  he  had  denied  his  mother,  while  bestowing  an  alms 
upon  her.  And  now  he  sat  up  beside  the  postilion,  his  arms 
folded  as  if  to  brace  himself,  for  he  felt  as  if  his  heart  would 
break.  His  whole  life  passed  before  him  and,  now  and  then,  he 
planted  himself  more  firmly  in  his  seat,  lest  he  should  fall.  And 
now  the  carriage  passed  by  a  farmyard  where,  twenty  years  ago, 
he  had,  by  his  mother's  order,  stolen  a  goose.  He  was  a  slim  lad 
then,  and  had  found  it  easy  to  slip  in,  on  all  fours,  through  the  gap 
in  the  hedge,  which  had  closed  up  in  the  meanwhile. 

Thomas,  his  twin  brother,  had  joined  the  poachers.  But  Baum, 
who  was  not  apt  at  their  work,  was  glad  when  they  took  him  for 
a  soldier.  One  day  while  he  was  on  duty  at  the  palace,  an  old 
valet  de  chambre  brought  a  letter  from  Baroness  Steigeneck,  who 
was  then  at  the  height  of  her  power.  The  valet  was  kept  waiting 
a  long  while,  during  which  he  chatted  with  Baum,  to  whom  he 
took  a  great  liking.  He  invited  Baum  to  visit  the  Steigeneck  pal- 


32  (AV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ace,  where  they  drank  together  in  the  servants'  room  and  \\ere  ex- 
ceedingly jolly. 

"  Why  is  your  hair  so  red  ?  "  said  the  valet  :Ie  chambre. 

"  Why  ?     Because  it  grew  so." 

"But  that  can  he  remedied." 

"  Indeed  !     How  so  ?  " 

Thn  old  man  gave  Baum  the  requisite  directions. 

"You  must  also  change  your  name.  Rauhensteiner  is  too  hard 
for  th«x«r  lordships.  It  is  difficult  to  pronounce,  and  particularly 
for  those  who  have  false  teeth.  You  must  take  some  such  name 
as  Beck,  or  Schulz,  or  Hecht,  or  Baum.  For,  mind  you,  a  dog 
has  no  name  except  the  one  its  master  sees  fit  to  call  it  by." 

"  '  Baum'  would  suit  me  very  well." 

"Well  then,  let  it  be  Baum."  On  his  way  home  that  night,  he 
kept  continually  saying  to  himself,  "  Baum,  Baum — that  's  a  short 
and  easy  name  and  no  one  will  know  me."  The  old  man  had 
made  him  swear  that  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  his 
family.  His  recent  visit  to  his  native  village  had  reminded  him  of 
his  pledge,  and,  although  he  attached  but  little  importance  to  an 
oath,  he  found  it  convenient  and,  as  he  thought,  praiseworthy  to 
keep  this  one. 

Through  the  intercession  of  the  Steigeneck  valet,  his  military 
discharge  was  made  out  in  the  name  of  Wolfgang  Rauhensteiner 
— surnamed  Baum.  After  that,  he  was  simply  known  as  Baum, 
and  none  knew  that  he  had  ever  borne  another  name.  He  was 
perfectly  willing  to  forego  his  chance  of  any  bequests  that  might 
be  left  to  him  under  the  name  of  Rauhensteiner. 

He  entered  the  sen-ice  of  the  court,  and  his  first  position  was 
as  groom  to  the  prince,  while  at  the  university  and  during  his 
subsequent  journey  through  Italy.  As  a  precaution,  he  had  gone 
home  and  obtained  an  emigrant's  passport,  and  afterwards  had 
dyed  his  hair  black.  In  his  native  village,  all  were  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  emigrated. 

After  he  returned  from  his  travels,  he  married  the  daughter 
of  the  valet  de  chambre,  and  ever  grew  in  favor  with  his  masters. 
He  was  discreet  in  all  things,  and  would  cough  behind  his  raised 
left  hand.  He  was  delighted  with  the  name  of  "Baum."  Such 
was  his  zeal  to  serve  his  masters,  that,  had  it  been  possible,  he 
would,  for  their  sakes,  have  banished  all  harsh  consonants  from  the 
language. 

'That 's  settled,"  said  Baum,  as  he  sat  on  the  box  beside  tne . 
postilion  and  coughed  behind  his  hand.  "That's  settled" — and 
his  face  assumed  a  calm  and  determined  expression  as  if  he  thought 
some  one  was  watching  him.  "  I  Ve  emigrated  to  America.  If  I 
were  there,  I  'd  be  dead  and  buried  as  far  as  my  family  are 
concerned.  Family,  indeed  !  They  'd  only  ruin  and  beggar  me, 
and  always  be  at  my  heels.  None  of  that  for  me  !  "  He  watched 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  33 

the  people,  many  of  whom  he  knew,  walking  along  the  road. 
"What  a  pitiful  life  these  folks  must  lead — no  pleasure  the  whole 
year  round  !  Once  a  week,  on  Sunday,  they  get  shavsd  and 
preached  to,  and  the  next  morning  the  squalor  begins  anew.  Any 
one  who  has  escaped,  would  be  a  fool  to  think  of  returning  to  it 
again  !  " 

Whilst  Baum  was  thus  recalling  long-forgotten  incidents  of  his 
past,  Walpurga  was  trying  hard  to  repress  her  tears.  It  seemed 
ns  if  some  higher  power  to  whose  sway  she  submitted  herself  had 
deprived  her  of  thought  and  feeling. 

With  wondering  eyes  she  gazed  at  the  brooks  that  hurried  down 
from  the  hills  and  then,  as  if  to  see  what  was  becoming  of  Wal- 
purga, would  run  along  beside  the  road.  When  they  dashed  across 
the  wooden  bridges  that  overhung  the  roaring  brook,  she  would 
tremble  with  fear,  and  would  not  feel  reassured  until  they  had 
gained  the  smooth  road  on  the  other  side.  She  looked  up  at  the 
mountains,  the  houses  and  the  Alpine  huts ;  she  knew  the  names 
of  those  who  dwelt  in  every  one  of  them.  But  they  soon  reached 
a  region  to  which  she  was  a  stranger. 

At  the  next  station  where  they  stopped  to  change  horses,  the 
Sunday  idlers  were  astonished  to  see  a  peasant  woman  descend 
from  so  elegant  a  carriage.  A  woman  nursing  her  child  was  sit- 
ting under  a  linden  tree  near  by.  Prompted  by  curiosity,  she 
raised  herself  in  her  seat,  and  the  child  turning  its  head  at  the 
same  time,  mother  and  child  were  staring  at  Walpurga,  who  nod- 
ded to  them  kindly,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  her  throat 
seemed  to  close.  The  postilion  blew  his  horn,  the  horses  started 
off  at  a  gallop,  and  Walpurga  again  felt  as  if  flying  through  the 
air. 

"This  is  fast  traveling,  Walpurga,  is  n't  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Baum. 
When  she  now  looked  at  him,  she,  too,  was  startled  by  his  won- 
derful resemblance  to  Thomas. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ! "  said  she.  The  Doctor  said  but  little,  for  he 
was  too  deeply  moved  by  sympathy  for  her.  Nor  did  he,  as  usual, 
assert  his  pride  of  position.  This  woman  was  so  much  more  than 
a  mere  tool  that  one  might  well  treat  her  with  kindness  and  con- 
sideration. She  had  found  it  so  hard  to  leave  her  home.  He  was, 
for  some  time,  considering  what  he  should  say  to  her  and,  at  last, 
enquired  : 

" Do  you  like  your  doctor? " 

"Yes,  indeed  I  do!  He's  very  odd.  He  scolds  and  abuses 
everybody ;  but  for  all  that,  he  does  good  wherever  he  can,  be  it 
day  or  night ;  rich  and  poor  are  all  the  same  to  him.  O,  he  's  a 
real  good  man  !  " 

Doctor  Sixtus  smiled  and  asked  her : 

"  I  did  n't  get  to  see  his  wife.     Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.     It 's  Hedwig,  the  apothecary's  daughter. 

2* 


34  0-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Her  family  are  very  nice  folks,  and  she  's  a  sweet,  charming  ere  i- 
ture  ;  plain  in  her  ways  and  quite  a  home  body.  They  have  fine 
children,  too, — five  or  six  of  them,  I  believe — and  so  she  has  hel 
hands  fall.  He  might  have  taken  you  to  his  house,  for  it 's  evel 
so  neat  and  tidy." 

He  was  delighted  with  Walpurga's  good  report  of  his  friend. 
And  now  that  he  had  succeeded  in  changing  the  train  of  her 
thoughts,  he  concluded  that  he  had  done  enough  and  could  leave 
her  to  shift  for  herself. 

She  saw  everything  as  if  in  a  dream.  There  were  fields  and 
meadows,  then  a  village,  a  window-shelf  covered  with  carnations 
and  hanging  vines.  You  've  such  at  home,  too,  thought  she,  and 
in  a  moment  they  had  vanished  from  sight.  Then  they  passed  the 
churchyard,  its  black  crosses  half  buried  in  the  earth  and  yet  stand- 
ing out  boldly  against  the  clear  sky.  In  the  village  there  was  music 
and  dancing,  and  merry  youths  "and  maidens,  their  faces  flushed 
by  their  sport,  hurried  to  the  windows.  Then  they  passed  more 
fields  and  meadows  and  houses,  and  saw  groups  sitting  together 
and  talking.  And  then  the  postilion  blew  a  loud  blast.  A  child 
was  running  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  With  a  shriek  of  horror, 
the  mother  rescued  it  and  hastened  away.  The  carriage  did  not 
stop.  Walpurga  looked  back,  feeling  sure  that  they  must  now  be 
thanking  God  for  the  child's  escape.  And  still  they  went  on. 
Then  they  passed  a  cow  grazing  by  the  wayside,  a  boy  near  by 
watching  her.  In  the  level  country  where  the  climate  is  so  much 
milder,  the  cherry  trees  were  already  bare  of  fruit.  And  then 
they  came  to  great  fields,  with  their  vast  sea  of  waving  grain — 

there  were  none  such  in  the  Highlands How  happy 

these  people  must  be  who  live  down  here,  where  there  is  some- 
thing more  than  water,  meadow  and  forest.  In  yonder  fallow 
field,  there  lies  a  plough  as  if  sleeping  over  Sunday.  It  grows 
dark,  lights  begin  to  twinkle;  there  are  men  and  women,  too. 
They  are  in  their  homes,  but  I  *m  being  taken  away  from  mine. 

.  .  .  At  the  next  post  station,  both  the  Doctor  and  Walpurga 
remained  in  the  carriage.  The  horses  were  quickly  changed,  the 
old  ones  going,  w^ith  heavy  steps,  into  the  stable ;  a  new  postilion 
mounted  the  box,  and  they  were  off  again.  \Valpurga  saw  noth- 
ing more ;  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  a 
dream,  \vhen  the  carriage  stopped  again  for  a  fresh  relay  of  horses, 
and  she  heard  Baum  ordering  the  postilion  not  to  blow  his  horn 
lest  he  might  awaken  those  inside. 

"I  'm  not  asleep,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Nor  am  I !     Just  blow  your  horn,  postilion,"  said  Walpurga. 

The  postilion  blew  a  loud  blast,  and  they  were  off  again.  The 
stars  were  glittering  overhead.  They  passed  through  more  vil- 
lages ;  windows  were  quickly  raised,  but  they  dashed  by  so  rapidly 
that  they  were  out  of  sight  before  the  surprised  villagers  had  time 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  35 

to  collect  their  senses.  Objects  at  the  wayside  were  strangely 
illumined  by  the  ever-moving1  glimmer  of  the  two  carriage  lamps, 
and  at  last,  in  the  distance,  they  descried  a  great  light  and,  over  il^ 
a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"There  's  an  illumination  in  the  city  !  "  exclaimed  Baum.  The 
horses  were  urged  to  greater  speed,  and  the  postilion  blew  his 
horn  more  merrily  than  before.  They  were,  at  last,  in  the  capital, 

The  carriage  made  slow  headway  through  the  surging,  joyous 
crowd  that  rilled  the  streets. 

"  Here  comes  the  crown  prince's  nurse,"  was  soon  noised  about, 
dnd  the  merry  crowd  greeted  Walpurga  with  loud  cheers.  Con- 
fused and  abashed,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  At  last  they 
were  safely  in  the  courtyard  of  the  palace. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

WALPURGA  found  herself  in  the  interior  quadrangle  of  the 
palace.  She  was  quite  giddy  with  looking  at  the  many 
doors,  the  great  windows,  the  broad  staircases  and  the  coats  of 
arms,  emblazoned  with  figures  of  wild  men  and  beasts.  All 
seemed  wondrous  strange  under  the  glare  of  the  gas  lamps,  the 
strong  lights,  here  and  there,  contrasting  with  the  deep,  mysteri- 
ous shadows.  Walpurga  stared  about  her  with  a  dreamy,  vacant 
gaze.  Giving  way  to  memories  of  olden  legends,  she  thought  of 
the  young  mother  whom  the  genii  of  the  mountain  had  carried  off 
to  a  subterranean  cavern,  where  they  detained  her  by  means  of  a 
magic  charm,  while  she  nursed  a  new-born  babe. 

But  she  was  recalled  to  herself  at  last.  From  the  palace-guard, 
where  the  muskets  were  stacked  in  two  long  rows  and  the  sentry 
was  marching  to  and  fro,  she  heard  one  of  the  songs  of  her  home. 

"  The  captain  of  the  palace-guard  has  sent  wine  to  the  soldiers," 
said  a  young  liveried  servant  addressing  Baum,  whom  he  assisted 
to  unharness  the  horses :  "the  whole  town  will  be  drunk." 

Walpurga  felt  like  telling  them  that  they  should  not  permit  the 
soldiers  to  sing  so  loudly,  because  the  young  mother  who  was 
lying  overhead  ought  to  sleep.  She  had  no  idea  of  the  great  size 
of  the  palace,  but  was  soon  to  find  it  out. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Doctor  Sixtus  ;  "  I  '11  conduct  you  to  the 
first  lady  of  the  bed-chamber.  Have  no  fear !  You  will  be  cor- 
dially welcomed  by  all." 

"  I  'd  better  bring  my  pillows  with  me,"  answered  Walpurga. 

"  Never  mind  ;  Baum  will  attend  to  them." 

Walpurga  followed  after  the  Doctor.  They  ascended  a  stair- 
case, brilliantly  illuminated  and  decorated  with  flowers,  and  Wal- 
purga felt  ashamed  at  the  thought  of  her  coming  empty-handed, 
just  as  if  there  was  nothing  she  could  call  her  own.  "  I  'm  not 
that  poor,  after  all,"  said  she,  almost  audibly. 


36  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

They  reached  the  grand  corridor.  It  was  also  brilliantly  illu- 
minate:! and  rilled  with  flowers.  There  were  people  in  uniform, 
walking  lo  r.nd  fro,  but  the  soft  carpets  prevented  their  footsteps 
from  being  heard.  The  under  servants  remained  standing  while 
Sixtus  and  Walpurga  passed  by  them.  At  last  they  stopped  be- 
fore a  door.  Addressing  the  sen-ant  who  was  stationed  there 
Doctor  Sixtus  said : 

"  Inform  her  excellency  that  Doctor  Sixtus  is  in  waiting,  and 
that  he  has  brought  the  nurse." 

This  was  the  first  time  Walpurga  had  heard  herself  spoken  of  as 
"the  nurse,"  and  as  being  "brought." 

She  again  felt  as  if  under  a  spell,  or  rather,  as  if  sold.  But  she 
plucked  up  courage,  and  suddenly  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were 
seated,  as  she  often  had  been,  in  a  boat  on  the  lake ;  as  if  she 
were  plying  the  oars  with  her  strong  arms — a  furious  wind  resist- 
ing her  progress,  and  the  waves  rising  wildly  on  high.  But  she 
was  strong,  and  rowed  with  a  steady  hand,  and  at  last  conquered 
the  wind  and  the  waves.  She  stiffened  her  arms  and  clenched 
her  fists  as  if  to  grasp  the  oars  more  firmly. 

The  servant  soon  returned,  and  held  the  door  open  while  Doc- 
tor Sixtus  and  Walpurga  entered  a  large,  well-lighted  apartment. 
A  tall,  thin  lady,  clad  in  a  dress  of  black  satin,  was  seated  in  an 
armchair  near  the  table.  She  arose  for  a  moment,  but  resumed 
her  seat  immediately.  It  is  no  trifling  matter  to  be  first  lady  of 
the  bed-chamber  at  the  birth  of  a  crown  prince.  This  had  been  a 
great  day  with  Countess  Brinkenstein.  Her  name  had  been  in- 
scribed for  all  time  in  the  great  official  record  of  the  day. 

Although  she  always  judged  her  actions  by  a  severe  standard, 
she  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  herself  that  day.  While  the 
court  and  capital  were  all  commotion,  she  had  been  perfectly 
calm.  She  had  kept  up  the  dignity  of  the  court  and,  moreover,  of 
the  king,  who  had  shown  himself  strangely  weak  and  excited. 

She  was  resting  on  her  laurels.  One  circumstance  had  greatly 
vexed  her  and  had  not  yet  been  dismissed  from  her  mind  ;  but  as 
she  had  a  firm  will,  she  controlled  her  feelings.  She  was  always 
self-possessed,  because  she  always  knew  just  what  was  to  be 
done. 

To  have  waited  so  long  before  securing  a  nurse  was  a  thing 
unheard  of.  Many  had  offered  themselves,  and,  among  them, 
some  who  belonged  to  good  families  ;  that  is,  of  the  nobility  who 
had  married  lower  officials.  Countess  Brinkenstein  regarded  the 
queen's  resolve  that  the  nurse  must  be  of  the  common  people — a 
peasant  woman,  indeed — as  overstrained  fastidiousness ;  there 
could  be  no  harm  in  referring  to  princely  errors  in  such  terms.  The 
preserver  of  decorum  was  therefore  determined  to  assume  the 
responsibility  of  filling  the  post  with  a  nurse  of  her  own  choice, 
when  the  Doctor's  telegram,  informing  them  that  he  had  secured 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  37 

the  ideal  peasant  woman,  was  received.  Her  displeasure  at  the 
queen's  behavior  was  now  transferred  to  the  peasant  woman,  who 
was.  as  yet  a  stranger  to  her,  and  who  would,  in  all  likelihood, 
bring  trouble  into  the  palace.  But,  after  all,  what  wer<«  lules  and 
regulations  made  for?  By  consistently  observing  them,  all  would 
yet  be  well. 

When  the  peasant  woman  was  announced,  Countess  Brinken- 
stein  arose,  her  stern  features  softened  by  the  noble  thought  that 
this  poor  woman  ought  not  to  suffer  because  of  the  queen's  newly- 
acquired  love  for  the  people ;  a  love  which  would  only  render  its 
objects  the  more  unhappy  and  discontented. 

The  Doctor  presented  Walpurga,  and  spoke  of  her  in  such 
terms  that  she  cast  down  her  eyes,  abashed  at  his  praise. 

Addressing  Countess  Brinkenstein  in  French,  he  told  her  how 
difficult  it  had  been  to  secure  this,  the  fairest  and  best  woman  in 
the  Highlands.  Answering  in  the  same  tongue,  the  Countess  con- 
gratulated him  upon  his  success  and  commented  on  Walpurga's 
healthy  appearance.  Finally  she  enquired,  still  in  French : 

"  Has  she  good  teeth  ?  " 

The  Doctor  turned  to  Walpurga,  saying : 

"  Her  ladyship  thinks  you  can't  laugh." 

Walpurga  smiled,  and  the  Countess  praised  her  perfect  teeth. 
She  then  touched  the  bell  on  the  table  and  a  lackey  appeared. 

"  Tell  privy  councilor  Gunther,"  said  she,  "  that  I  await  him  here, 
and  that  the  nurse  of  his  royal  highness  has  arrived." 

The  lackey  left  the  room.  The  Countess  now  touched  the  bell 
twice  ;  a  tall  lady,  advanced  in  years,  and  wearing  long,  corkscrew 
curls,  appeared,  and  bowed  so  low. that  Walpurga  imagined  she 
intended  to  sit  down  on  the  floor. 

"  Come  nearer,  dear  Kramer,"  said  the  Countess.  "This  is  the 
nurse  of  his  royal  highness  ;  she  is  in  your  especial  charge.  Take 
her  to  your  room  and  let  her  have  something  to  eat.  What 
shall  it  be,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Good  beef  broth  will  do  very  well." 

"Go  with  Kramer,"  said  the  Countess,  addressing  Walpurga, 
and  smiling  graciously.  "Whenever  you  want  anything,  dear 
child,  ask  her  for  it.  God  be  with  you  !  " 

The  lady  with  the  corkscrew  curls,  offering  her  hand  to 
Walpurga,  said  :  "Come  with  me,  my  good  woman." 

Walpurga  nodded  a  grateful  assent. 

And  so,  after  all,  there  was  some  one  to  take  her  by  the  hand  and 
?peak  German  to  her.  And  they  were  kind  words,  too,  for  the  old 
lady  had  addressed  her  as  "dear  child,"  and  mademoiselle  as  "my 
good  woman."  While  they  were  speaking  French,  it  had  seemed 
as  if  she  were  betrayed,  for  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  they 
w<:re  talking  of  her.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  now  conducted  her 
to  the  second  room  beyond. 


3S  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"And  now  let  me  bid  you  welcome!"  said  the  lady,  \vnile  her 
homely  face  suddenly  acquired  a  charming  expression.  "  Give  me 
both  hands.  Let  us  be  good  friends,  for  we  '11  always  be  together, 
by  day  and  by  night !  They  call  me  the  chief-stewardess." 

"And  I  'm  called  Walpurga." 

"  A  pretty  name,  too  !     I  think  you  '11  keep  it." 

"  Keep  my  name  !  Why,  who  can  take  it  from  me  ?  I  was 
christened  Walpurga,  and  I  've  been  called  so  ever  since  child- 
hood." 

"Don't  agitate  yourself,  dear  W'alpurga,"  said  the  stewardess, 
with  much  feeling.  "  Yes,  pray  be  calm,"  added  she,  "  and,  when- 
ever anything  displeases  you,  tell  me  of  it,  and  I  '11  see  that  it  is 
remedied.  You  ought  to  be  contented  and  happy  always ;  and 
now,  sit  in  this  armchair,  or  if  you  'd  rather  lie  on  the  sofa  and 
rest  yourself,  do  so.  Make  yourself  perfectly  at  home." 

"This  will  do  very  well,"  said  Walpurga,  ensconcing  herself  in 
the  great  armchair  and  resting  her  hands  upon  her  knees.  Mad- 
emoiselle Kramer  now  ordered  one  of  the  sen-ing-maids  to  brin^ 
in  some  good  beef  broth  and  wheaten  bread  for  the  nurse. 
Turning  towards  Walpurga,  she  sawT  that  she  was  crying  bitterly. 

"For  God's  sake,  what  's  the  matter?  You  're  not  frightened 
or  worried  about  anything?  What  are  you  crying  for?  " 

"  Let  me  cry.  It  does  me  good.  My  heart  's  been  heavy  for 
ever  so  long.  I  suppose  you  '11  let  me  cry  when  I  can't  help  it.  I 
did  n't  know  what  I  was  doing  when  I  said  '  yes.'  God  's  my  wit- 
ness, I  never  thought  it  would  be  like  this  !  " 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Who  has  done  anything  to  you  ?  For 
God's  sake,  do  n't  cry  ;  it  will  do  you  harm,  and  I  '11  be  repri- 
manded for  having  allowed  it.  Just  tell  me  what  you  want ;  I  '11 
do  all  I  can  for  you." 

"All  I  want  of  you  is  to  let  me  cry.  O  my  child  !  O  Hansei ! 
O  mother ! — But  now  I  'm  all  right  again.  I  '11  be  calm.  I  'm 
here  now,  and  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

The  soup  was  brought.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  held  a  spoonful 
to  Walpurga's  lips,  and  said : 

"  Take  something,  my  dear,  and  you  '11  soon  feel  better." 

"  I  do  n't  want  any  broth.  Am  I  to  be  treated  as  if  I  were 
sick,  and  forced  to  eat  what  I  do  n't  like?  If  there  was  anyone  in 
the  house  who  could  make  porridge,  I  'd  rather  have  that  than 
anything  else.  I  '11  go  into  the  kitchen  and  make  some  myself." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  was  in  despair.  To  her  great  relief, 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Doctor  Gunther,  the  king's  phy- 
sician, entered,  accompanied  by  Doctor  Sixtus.  He  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  nurse,  and  said : 

"  God  greet  you,  Walpurga  of  the  cottage  by  the  lake  !  You  've 
made  a  good  catch  in  coming  to  this  house.  Do  n't  be  alarmed 
by  the  ways  of  the  palace,  and  do  just  as  you  would  at  home, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  39 

Take  my  word  for  it,  water  is  needed  for  cooking,  all  the  world 
over.  The  folks  here  are  just  as  they  are  in  your  neighborhood- 
just  as  good  and  just  as  bad  ;  just  as  wise  and  just  as  stupid , 
with  this  difference,  however — here  they  know  how  to  hide  theif 
wickedness  and  stupidity." 

Doctor  Gunther  had,  in  part,  used  the  Highland  dialect  while 
addressing  her,  and  her  face  suddenly  brightened. 

"Thank  you!  thank  you!  I'll  remember  what  you  tell  me," 
said  she,  cheerfully. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  now  introduced  the  great  question  of  the 
day — beef  broth  or  porridge.  Doctor  Gunther  laughed,  and 
sail: 

"  Why  porridge,  to  be  sure ;  that 's  the  best.  In  fact,  Walpurga, 
all  you  need  do  is  to  say  what  you  've  been  used  to  at  home  and 
you  shall  have  it  here,  provided  it  is  neither  sour  nor  fat." 

Addressing  his  colleague,  he  added  : 

"  We  '11  keep  the  nurse  on  her  accustomed  diet  for  the  present, 
and  afterwards  can  gradually  bring  about  a  change.  Come  here, 
Walpurga,  and  let  me  look  into  your  eyes.  I  've  something  to  tell 
you.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from  now,  you  're  to  appear  before 
the  queen.  Do  n't  be  alarmed,  no  one  will  harm  you.  She  mere- 
ly wishes  to  see  you.  Do  n't  fail  to  prove  that  your  eyes  are  right, 
when  they  say  they  belong  to  a  clever  head.  Address  the  queen 
calmly  and  if,  as  is  quite  likely,  you  still  feel  a  homesick  yearning 
for  your  child  and  the  others  you  've  left  behind  you,  do  n't  show 
it  while  you  are  with  the  queen.  You  might  cause  her  to  weep 
and  make  her  ill,  for  she  's  very  delicate.  Do  you  quite  under- 
stand me  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed  !     I  '11  be  very  careful.     I  '11  cheer  her  up." 

"  You  must  not  dp  that  either.  Remain  perfectly  calm  and  com- 
posed ;  speak  but  little,  and  in  a  low  voice.  Try  to  get  out  of  the 
room  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  she  need"  all  the  sleep  she  can  get." 

"  I  '11  do  everything  just  as  you  say.  You  can  depend  on  me," 
said  Walpurga.  "Are  n't  you  going  along?  " 

"  No  ;  you  '11  meet  me  there.  But  now,  take  something  to  eat. 
Here  comes  the  porridge.  I  hope  it  will  do  you  good.  You 
need  n't  eat  it  all ;  half  will  do  for  the  present.  But  wait  a  little 
while  until  it  cools.  Come  with  me  a  moment.  I  suppose  you  're 
not  afraid  to  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  seems  as  if  I  'd  often  heard  your  voice  before." 

"Very  likely!  I  am  also  from  the  Highlands,  and  have  already 
been  in  your  father's  house.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  your  mother 
was  from  our  region.  Was  she  not  in  service  with  the  freehold 
farmer?" 

"  She  was,  indeed." 

"  Well  then,  your  mother 's  a  good  woman,  and  do  n't  forget  to 
tell  the  queen  that  she  's  taking  good  care  of  your  child.  That 


40  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

\vill  please  her.  I  knew  your  father,  too ;  he  was  a  merry  soul, 
and  perfectly  honest." 

\Valpurga  felt  happy  to  know  that  her  parents  were  well  thought 
of  and  that  the  others  had  heard  them  so  favorably  mentioned.  If 
the  Doctor  who  had  known  her  father  had  been  that  father  himself, 
she  could  not  have  been  more  willing  to  accompany  him  into 
the  adjoining  room.  He  returned,  in  a  few  moments,  and  left  in 
the  company  of  Doctor  Sixtus ;  and  then  Walpurga  came,  her  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground.  When  she  at  last  looked  up,  she  was  glad  there 
was  no  one  in  the  room  but  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

Her  thoughts  must  have  been  of  home,  for  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Dear  me  !  I  've  got  you,  yet."  She  then  took  from  her 
pocket  the  piece  of  bread  which  her  mother  had  given  her.  And 
thus  the  first  morsel  she  ate  while  in  the  palace,  was  brought  from 
home,  and  was  of  her  mother's  baking.  Her  mother  had  told  her 
that  this  \vould  cure  her  of  homesickness  ;  and  she  really  found  it 
so,  for,  with  even-  mouthful,  she  became  more  cheerful. 

If  seven  queens  were  to  have  come  just  then,  she  would  not 
have  been  afraid  of  them,  and  her  crying  was  at  an  end. 

She  ate  all  the  crumbs  that  had  fallen  into  her  lap,  as  if  they 
had  some  sacred  potency.  After  that  she  tried  a  little  of  the  por- 
ridge. 

"Can't  I  go  somewhere  to  wash  my  face  and  dress  my  hair?  " 
asked  she. 

"  Of  course.     Doctor  Gunther  has  given  orders  that  you  should." 

"  I  do  n't  need  orders  for  everything  I  do  !"  said  Walpurga,  de- 
fiantly. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  wanted  to  have  her  maid  dress  Walpur- 
ga's  hair.  But  Walpurga  would  not  allow  it.  • 

••  Xo  stranger's  hand  shall  touch  my  head,"  said  she.  And 
after  a  little  while  she  presented  a  tidy  and  almost  cheerful  appear- 
ance. 

"  There,  now  I  '11  go  to  the  queen,"  said  she.  "  How  do  you 
address  her?" 

"  '  Your  majesty,'  or,  '  most  gracious  madam.'  " 

"  In  the  prayers  at  church  they  call  her  the  '  country's  mother,'  " 
said  Walpurga,  "  and  I  like  that  far  better.  That 's  a  glorious, 
bea»:*;ful  name.  If  it  were  mine,  no  one  should  take  it  from  me. 
And  now  I  '11  go  to  the  queen." 

"  Xo  !  you  must  wait.     You  will  be  sent  for." 

"  That  '11  suit  me  just  as  well.  But  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you. 
Call  me  «  Du'.  "* 

"  Quite  willingly,  if  the  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber  does  not 
object." 

"  And  so  nothing  can  be  done  here  without  asking  leave.     But 

•  The  familiar  "  thou." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS,  41 

now  we  Ve  done  enough  talking,  let 's  be  quiet.  Ah,  yes  !  there 's 
one  thing  more.  Whose  picture  is  that  hanging  up  there  ?  "  .- 

"  The  queen's." 

"  Is  that  the  queen  ?     O,  how  lovely  !     But  she  's  very  young." 

"  Yes,  she  's  only  eighteen  years  old." 

Walpurga  gazed  at  the  picture  for  a  long  while.  Then,  turning 
away  from  it,  she  sank  on  her  knees  beside  the  great  chair,  folded 
her  hands  and  softly  whispered  a  paternoster. 

Walpurga  was  still  kneeling,  when  a  knock  at  the  door  was 
heard.  A  lackey  entered  ancfSaid  : 

"  Her  majesty  has  sent  for  his  royal  highness's  nurse." 

Walpurga  arose  and  followed  the  servant,  Mademoiselle  Kra- 
mer accompanying  them. 

CHAPTER    X. 

PRECEDED  by  a  servant  bearing  a  lantern,  they  passed 
F  through  the  long,  narrow,  brilliantly-lighted  passage  and, 
ascending  a  staircase,  reached  the  gallery  of  the  royal  chapel. 
There  were  cushioned  chairs  for  the  court.  Walpurga  looked 
clown  into  the  vast,  dark  hall.  There  was  no  light  except  that  in 
the  altar  lamp,  the  rays  of  which  faintly  illumined  the  image  of  the 
Virgin. 

"Thou  art  everywhere  !  "  said  Walpurga,  half  aloud,  while  she 
looked  down  into  the  dark  church  and  saluted  the  Madonna  with 
the  Child,  as  familiarly  as  if  greeting  an  intimate  friend.  A  dim 
sense  of  the  divine  attributes  of  maternity,  as  glorified  in  ages  of 
song  and  picture,  prayer  and  sacrifice,  filled  her  soul.  She  nodded 
to  the  picture  once  again,  and  then  walked  on.  As  uncertain  of 
her  steps  as  if  walking  on  glass,  she  went  through  the  throne- 
room,  and  the  great  ball-room.  Then  they  passed  through  other 
apartments  which,  although  evidently  intended  for  more  domestic 
uses,  were  without  doors  and  were  separated  from  each  other  by 
heavy  double  hangings.  At  last  they  descended  a  wide  marble 
staircase  with  a  golden  balustrade.  It  was  well-lighted  and  carpet- 
ed. Here  there  were  servants  and  guards.  They  entered  other 
apartments,  which  were  filled  with  people,  who  paused  in  their 
eager  conversation  to  glance  at  Walpurga.  In  the  third  room, 
Dr.  Gunther  advanced  towards  her.  Taking  her  by  the  hand, 
he  led  her  up  to  a  gentleman  who  was  attired  in  a  brilliant  uni- 
brm  and  wore  the  crosses  and  medals  of  many  orders. 

"This  is  His  Majesty,  the  king,"  said  he. 

"  I  know  him  ;  I  Ve  seen  him  before,"  replied  Walpurga.  "  My 
•ather  rowed  him  across  the  lake,  and  so  did  my  Hansei,  too." 

"  Then,  as  we  have  known  each  other  so  long,  let  us  improve 
our  acquaintance,"  replied  the  king.  "And  now  go  to  the  queen  j 
but  be  careful  not  to  agitate  her." 


42  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  dismissed  her  with  a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head  and, 
accompanied  by  Doctor  Guntherand  Countess  Brinkenstein,  whom 
they  found  in  attendance,  she  passed  through  several  other  rooms, 
the  heavy  carpets  of  which  deadened  the  sounds  of  their  footsteps. 

"Be  careful  not  to  agitate  her."  The  words  greatly  troubled 
Walpurga.  Why  should  she  provoke  the  queen  to  anger?  for  that 
was  the  only  meaning  she  could  take  from  the  word. 

Although  she  did  not  know  what  they  meant  by  the  word,  her 
being  pushed  hither  and  thither,  up  and  down,  through  passages 
and  rooms  without  number,  encountering  the  glances  of  the  court- 
iers by  the  way  and,  at  last,  receiving  the  king's  warning,  had 
had  the  effect  of  agitating  her. 

At  last  she  stood  at  the  threshold  of  a  green  apartment  that  ap- 
peared to  her  like  an  enchanted  room,  hollowed  out  of  some  vast 
emerald.  A  lamp  with  a  green  glass  shade  hung  from  the  ceiling, 
and  shed  a  soft,  fairy-like  light  on  the  room  and  its  inmates.  And 
there  on  the  large,  canopied  bed,  with  the  glittering  crown  over- 
head, lay  the  queen. 

Walpurga  held  her  breath ;  a  soft  glow  illumined  the  face  of  her 
who  lay  there. 

"  Have  you  come  ?  "  asked  a  gentle  voice. 

"  Yes,  my  queen,  God  greet  you  !  Just  keep  yourself  quiet  and 
cheerful.  All  has  gone  well  with  you,  thank  God  !" 

With  these  words,  Walpurga  advanced  towards  the  bedside,  and 
would  not  suffer  Doctor  Gunther  nor  Countess  Brinkenstein  to 
keep  her  back.  She  offered  her  hand  to  the  queen.  And  thus 
two  hands — one  hardened  by  toil  and  rough  as  the  bark  of  a  tree, 
the  other  as  soft  as  the  petal  of  a  lily — clasped  each  other. 

"  I  thank  you  for  having  come.     Were  you  glad  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  I  was  glad  to  come,  but  sorry  to  leave  home." 

"  You  surely  love  your  child  and  your  husband  with  all  your 
heart." 

'I  'm  my  husband's  wife,  and  my  child's  mother." 

"  And  your  mother  nurses  your  child  and  cares  for  it  with  a  lov- 
ing heart  ?  "  inquired  the  queen. 

"  The  idea  !  "  replied  Walpurga. 

The  queen  did  not  seem  to  know  that  her  answer  meant: 
"That's  a  matter  of  course,"  and  she  therefore  asked:  "Do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  I  understand  German,"  replied  Walpurga.  "  But 
Your  Majesty  should  n't  speak  so  much.  God  willing,  we  '11  be  to- 
gether in  happiness  for  many  days  to  corr.e.  We  '11  arra:./  •;  every- 
thing when  we  can  look  into  each  other's  eyes  in  broad  daylight, 
and  I  '11  do  all  I  can  to  please  you  and  the  child.  I  've  got  over 
my  homesickness  and  now  I  must  do  my  duty.  I  '11  be  a  good 
nurse  to  yo.ur  child  ;  do  n't  let  that  worry  you.  And  now,  good 
night !  Sleep  well,  and  let  nothi  ig  trouble  you.  And  now  let  me 
see  our  child." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  43 

"  Breath  of  my  breath,  it  lies  here,  sleeping  by  my  side.  How 
infinite  is  God's  grace,  how  marvelous  are  his  works  ! " 

Walpurga  felt  that  some  one  was  pulling  at  her  dress,  and 
hastily  said : 

"  Good  night,  dear  queen.  Put  all  idle  thoughts  away  from 
you.  This  is  no  time  to  busy  yourself  thinking.  We  '11  have 
enough  to  think  of  when  the  time  comes.  Good  night !  " 

"No,  remain  here  !     You  must  stay  !  "  begged  the  queen. 

"I  must  beg  Your  Majesty — "  hurriedly  interposed  Doctor 
Gunther. 

"  Do  leave  her  with  me  a  little  while,"  begged  the  queen,  in 
childlike  tones.  "  I  am  sure  it  will  do  me  no  harm  to  talk  with 
her.  When  she  drew  near  the  bed,  and  I  heard  her  voice,  I  felt 
as  if  a  breath  of  Alpine  air,  in  all  its  dewy  freshness,  was  being 
wafted  towards  me.  Even  now  I  feel  as  if  lying  on  a  high  mount- 
ain, from  which  I  can  look  down  into  the  beautiful  world." 

"  Your  Majesty,  such  excitement  may  prove  quite  injurious." 

"Very  well ;  I  will  be  calm.  But  do  leave  her  with  me  a  mo- 
ment longer !  Let  me  have  more  light,  so  that  I  may  see  her." 

The  screen  was  removed  from  a  lamp  that  stood  on  a  side-table, 
and  the  two  mothers  beheld  each  other,  face  to  face. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are,"  exclaimed  the  queen. 

"That  does  n't  matter  any  longer,"  replied  Walpurga.  "God 
be  praised,  we  Ve  both' got  over  having  our  heads  turned  by  such 
nonsense.  You  're  a  wife  and  mother,  and  so  am  I." 

The  screen  fell  again ;  the  queen,  taking  Walpurga's  hand  in 
hers,  said  in  a  gentle  voice : 

"  Bend  down  to  me,  I  want  to  kiss  you — I  must  kiss  you." 

Walpurga  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  the  queen  kissed  her. 

"You  can  go  now.  Keep  yourself  good  and  true,"  said  the 
queen. 

A  tear  of  Walpurga's  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  queen,  who 
added  : 

"  Do  n't  weep  !     You,  too,  are  a  mother." 

Unable  to  utter  another  word,  Walpurga  turned  to  go,  and  the 
queen  called  after  her. 

'  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

'Walpurga"  said  Doctor  Gunther,  answering  for  her. 

'  And  can  you  sing  well  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 

'They  say  so,"  replied  Walpurga. 

'Then  sing  often  to  my  child,  or  'our  child,'  as  you  call  him. 
Good  night ! " 

Doctor  Gunther  remained  with  the  queen.  It  was  sorr/e  time 
before  he  uttered  a  word.  He  felt  that  he  must  calm  her  e*  cited 
feelings,  and  he  had  a  safe  and  simple  remedy  at  command. 

"I  must  request  Your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "to  return  my  con- 
gratulations. My  daughter  Cornelia,  the  wife  of  Professor  Korn 


44  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

of  the  university,  was  safely  delivered  of  a  little  girl,  at  the  very 
hour  in  which  the  crown  prince  was  born." 

"  I  congratulate  the  child  on  having  such  a  grandfather.  You 
shall,  also,  be  the  grandfather  of  our  son." 

"  The  congratulation  that  imposes  a  noble  duty  upon  its  recipi- 
ent, is  the  best  that  can  be  given,"  replied  Gunther.  "  I  thank 
you.  But  we  must  now  cease  talking.  Permit  me  to  bid  Your 
Majesty  good  night !  " 

Gunther  left  the  room.     All  was  silent. 

Instead  of  taking  Walpurga  back  to  the  upper  rooms,  the)  had 
conducted  her  to  a  well-furnished  apartment  on  the  other  side  of 
the  palace,  where,  to  her  great  delight,  she  found  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  awaiting  her. 

"  The  queen  kissed  me  !  "  exclaimed  she.  "  O  what  an  angel 
she  is !  I  'd  no  idea  there  were  such  creatures  in  the  world." 

Sometime  later,  when  the  queen  had  fallen  asleep,  two  women 
brought  a  gilded  cradle  into  Walpurga's  room. 

When  they  took  the  child  from  the  bed,  the  queen,  as  if  con- 
scious of  what  was  being  done,  moved  in  her  sleep. 

Before  taking  the  child  to  her  bosom,  Walpurga  breathed  upon 
it  thrice.  It  opened  its  eyes  and  looked  at  her,  and  then  quickly 
closed  them  again. 

Throughout  the  palace,  all  was  soon  hushed  in  silence.  Wal- 
purga and  the  child  by  her  side  were  asleep.  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  sat  up  during  the  night,  and,  in  the  ante-chamber  on 
either  side,  there  were  doctors  and  servants  within  call. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  the  village  by  the  lake,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  in  the  few 
houses  clustered  near  the  Chamois  inn,  Walpurga's  strange  and 
sudden  departure  caused  great  commotion. 

All  hurried  towards  the  inn.  The  innkeeper  assumed  a  wise  air 
and  desired  it  to  be  understood  that  he  knew  far  more  than  people 
gave  him  credit  for.  The  whole  affair  was,  of  course,  of  his  plan- 
ning ;  for  had  it  not  been  proven  that  his  acquaintance  included 
even  the  king  himself? 

Immediately  after  Walpurga's  departure,  he  urged  Hansei  to 
accompany  him  to  the  Chamois,  for  he  well  knew  that  his  presence 
there  would  prove  a  far  greater  attraction  than  a  band  of  mu- 
sicians. 

Hansei  would  not  go  at  once,  but  promised  to  follow  soon  after- 
ward. He  could  not  leave  home  just  then. 

He  went  through  the  whole  house,  from  cellar  to  garret.  Then 
he  went  out  into  the  stable,  where,  for  a  long  while,  he  watched  the 
vow  feeding.  "Such  a  beast  has  a  good  time  of  it,  after  all," 
thought  he  ;  "  others  have  to  provide  for  it,  and  wherever  it  finds 
a  full  crib,  it  is  at  home," 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  45 

He  went  into  the  room  and,  silently  nodding  to  the  grand- 
mother, cast  a  hurried  glance  at  the  slumbering  child.  He  seated 
himself  near  the  table  and,  resting  his  elbows  thereon,  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

"  It  still  goes,"  said  he,  looking  up  at  the  Black  Forest  clock 
that  was  ticking  on  the  wall.  "She  wound  it  up  before  she  left." 

He  went  out  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  under  the  cherry  tree. 
The  starlings  overhead  were  quite  merry,  and  from  the  woods  a 
CMckoo  called:  "Yes,  he  goes  away,  too,  and  leaves  his  children 
to  be  brought  up  by  strangers." 

Hansei  laughed  to  himself,  and  looked  about  him.  Had  the 
wife  really  gone  ?  She  must  still  be  sitting  there  !  How  could 
those  who  belong  together  be  thus  parted  ? 

He  kept  staring  at  the  seat  next  to  him  —  but  she  was  not  there. 

Half  the  village  had  gathered  before  the  garden  gate.  Young 
and  old,  big  and  little,  stood  there,  gazing  at  him. 

Wastl  (Sebastian),  the  weaver,  who  had  for  many  years  been  a 
comrade  of  Hansei's,  and  had  worked  with  him  in  the  forest, 
called  out  : 

"  God  greet  you,  Hansei  !  Your  bread  has  fallen  with  the 
buttered  side  up." 

Hansei  muttered  sullen  thanks.  Suddenly,  there  was  a  great 
peal  of  laughter.  No  one  knew  who  had  been  the  first  to  utter 
the  word  "he-nurse."  It  had  been  rapidly  and  quietly  passed 
from  one  to  another  through  the  crowd,  until  it  at  last  reached 
Thomas,  Zenza's  son  —  a  bold,  rawboned  fellow,  whose  open  shirt 
revealed  a  brawny  chest. 

"  Walpurga  's  the  crown  prince's  j^<?-nurse,  and  Hansei  's    the 


Wastl  opened  the  gate  and  entered  the  garden,  the  whole  crowd 
following  at  his  heels.  They  went  through  garden,  house  and 
stable  ;  peeped  through  the  windows,  smelled  at  the  violets  on  the 
window-shelf,  and  sat  down  on  the  kindling  wood  that  lay  under 
the  shed.  The  house  seemed  to  have  become  the  property  of  the 
whole  village.  When  joy  or  sorrow  enters  a  home,  all  doors  are 
open,  and  the  rooms  and  passages  become  as  a  public  highway. 

"What  do  they  all  want  ?  "  inquired  Hansei  of  Wastl,  who  had 
sat  down  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"  Nothing  !  All  they  Ve  come  for  is  to  see  for  themselves  that 
the  whole  thing  's  true,  so  they  can  tell  others  about  it.  But 
they  're  all  pleased  with  your  good  luck." 

"  My  good  luck  !  Well,  I  suppose  it  had  to  be,"  said  Hansei,  in 
a  tone  scarcely  suggestive  of  happiness.  "Wastl,  it  seems  as  if 
nothing  is  to  go  right  with  me.  I  'd  just  begun  to  think  that 
everything  would  go  on  smoothly  as  it  had  been  doling,  and  now, 
all  at  once,  I  Ve  got  to  climb  another  mountain.  But  you  're 
single  and,  of  course,  you  can't  know  how  I  feel." 


46  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  It 's  very  good  of  you  to  be  so  fond  of  your  wife." 

"  My  wife  ?     So  fond  ?  " 

"  I  know  how  you  must  feel." 

Hansei  shook  his  head  with  an  incredulous  air. 

"  Cheer  up  !  "  said  Wastl.  "  Many  a  husband  would  be  glad  to 
be  rid  of  his  wife  for  a  year." 

"  For  a  year?  " 

"  The  longer  the  better,  some  would  say,"  thought  Wastl.  "  But 
your  wife  will  come  back  again  and  turn  your  cottage  into  a  palace, 
and  then  you  '11  be  king  number  two  !  " 

Hansei  laughed  loudly,  although  he  was  not  in  a  laughing  mood. 
He  felt  as  if  he  must  go  out  into  the  forest,  where  he  should  neither 
hear  nor  see  anything  of  the  world.  Confound  it  all !  Why  did 
the  wife  leave  ?  Was  it  for  this  that  we  married  and  pledged  our- 
selves to  be  one  for  life,  come  weal  come  woe  ? 

But  Hansei  could  not  get  away.  Half  the  village  had  gathered 
about  him.  All  spoke  of  his  good-fortune.  The  owner  of  the 
great  farm  up  the  road,  he  who  was  known  as  the  Leithof  bauer, 
even  stopped  his  team  at  the  garden  gate  and  alighted  in  order  to 
shake  hands  with  Hansei  and  wish  him  joy. 

"  If  you  'd  like  to  buy  the  meadow  next  to  your  garden,  I  '11  sell 
it  to  you.  It 's  a  little  too  far  off  for  me,"  said  the  Leithofbauer. 

The  joiner  who  lived  in  the  village,  and  who  had  long  been 
anxious  to  emigrate,  quickly  said : 

"  You  '11  do  far  better  if  you  buy  my  house  and  farm.  I  '11  let 
you  have  them  dirt  cheap." 

The  starlings  up  in  the  tree  could  not  out-chatter  these  people. 
Hansei  laughed  heartily.  Why,  this  is  splendid !  thought  he. 
The  whole  world  comes  to  offer  me  house  and  farm,  field  and 
meadow. 

"  You  were  right,  Walpurga  !  "  said  he  suddenly.  The  people 
stared,  first  at  him  and  then  at  each  other,  and  did  not  know  what 
to  make  of  him. 

He  stretched  his  limbs,  as  if  awaking  from  sleep,  and  said : 

"  Many  thanks,  dear  neighbors.  If  I  can  ever  repay  you,  in  joy 
or  in  sorrow,  I  '11  surely  do  so.  But  now,  I  '11  make  no  change ; 
no,  I  shan't  move  a  nail  in  the  house  till  my  wife  comes  back." 

"  Spoken  like  a  man,  good  and  true,"  said  the  Leithofbauer,  and 
greater  praise  could  befall  no  one,  than  to  be  thus  spoken  of  by 
the  wealthiest  farmer  in  the  neighborhood. 

"Would  you  like  to  look  at  my  cow?"  said  Hansei,  beckoning 
to  the  Leithofbauer,  who  now  seemed  the  only  one  on  a  level  with 
himself. 

The  Leithofbauer  thanked  him,  but  had  no  time  to  stop.  Be- 
fore taking  his  leave,  he  assured  Hansei  that  he  would  willingly 
advise  him  how  to  put  out  his  money  safely. 

His  money?     Where  could  it  be?     Hansei  trembled  with  fear 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  47 

and  pressed  his  hands  to  his  head — he  had  lost  the  roll  of  money  ! 
Where  was  it?  He  plunged  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  The  roll 
was  still  there  !  And  now  that  his  hand  again  clutched  it,  he  was 
quite  affable  to  those  who  still  remained,  and  had  a  kind  word  for 
every  one. 

At  last,  the  villagers  had  all  left,  and  Hansei  could  think  of 
nothing  better  to  do  than  to  climb  up  into  his  cherry  tree — the 
true  friend  that  would  never  desert  him,  and  would  give  as  long  as 
it  had  aught  to  give. 

He  plucked  and  ate  lots  of  cherries,  while  he  looked  at  the  tele- 
graph wire  and  thought :  It  runs  into  the  palace  and  I  could  talk 
to  my  wife  through  it,  if  I  only  knew  how.  He  bent  forward  until 
he  could  touch  the  wire,  and  having  done  so,  quickly  withdrew  his 
hand,  as  if  frightened. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  voice  calling  to  him  : 

"  Hansei !  where  are  you  ?  " 

"Here  I  am." 

"Come  along!"  was  the  answer.  It  was  the  priest  who  had 
called  to  him. 

Hansei  hurried  down  from  the  tree  and  now  received  the  great- 
est honor  that  had  yet  been  paid  him.  The  priest  beckoned  to 
him,  and  Hansei  approached,  hat  in  hand. 

"  I  wish  you  joy  !  "  said  the  priest.  "  Come  along  to  the  inn  ; 
the  host  of  the  Chamois  has  opened  a  fresh  tap." 

Hansei  looked  at  himself  to  see  what  had  come  over  him.  To 
think  of  the  priest's  inviting  him  to  walk  with  him,  and  to  drink  in 
his  company,  too  !  . 

He  received  the  new  honor  with  dignity.  While  he  walked  with 
the  priest,  the  people  whom  they  met  along  the  road  would  lift 
their  hats  and  he  would  acknowledge  their  greetings  quite  affably. 

In  the  large  room  at  the  Chamois,  where  every  one  was  either 
talking  to  or  of  him,  he  felt  so  happy  that  he  opened  the  roll  of 
money,  without,  however,  removing  it  from  his  pocket.  He  meant 
to  offer  the  first  piece  to  the  priest,  so  that  he  might  say  a  mass 
for  Walpurga.  But  the  pieces  were  so  large.  They  were  all 
crown  thalers.  And  so  Hansei  merely  said  : 

"  I  wish  you  'd  say  a  mass  for  my  wife  and  child.     I  '11  pay  you." 

It  was  already  twilight.  The  guests  gradually  departed.  But 
Hansei  remained  sitting  there,  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  At  last, 
he  and  the  innkeeper  were  the  only  ones  in  the  room. 

"Now  that  they 've  all  had  a  talk  at  you,"  said  the  innkeeper, 
"you  may  as  well  listen  to  me.  No  one  means  it  as  kindly  with 
you  as  I  do,  and  I  'm  not  a  fool,  either.  Do  you  know  what  would 
suit  you,  Hansei,  and  would  suit  your  wife  still  better  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  This  is  the  place  for  you, — you  and  your  wife !  I  've  been 
landlord  long  enough.  When  your  wife  comes  back,  you  can  say 


48  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

'good  night'  to  your  cottage  and  settle  yourselves  here,  where 
you  '11  find  a  good  living  for  your  children  and  your  grandchildren. 
We  won't  talk  about  it  now  ;  but  don't  commit  yourself  to  anything 
else.  I  'm  your  best  friend  ;  I  think  I  've  proved  that,  this  very 
day.  I  do  n't  care  to  make  a  penny  by  the  affair — quite  the  con- 
trary." 

O  how  kind  they  are  when  all  goes  well  with  one  ! 

Hansei  sat  there  for  a  long  while,  looking  i  .to  his  glass,  and 
endeavoring  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  who  he  really  was.  Then  he 
began  to  think  of  his  wife  again  :  where  she  might  be,  and  how  it 
was  with  her.  If  he  could  only  go  to  sleep  that  very  moment  and 
remain  asleep  until  the  year  was  out ;  but  to  sit  and  wait.  .  .  . 
He  looked  up  at  the  clock ;  it  was  just  striking  ten. 

"  How  often  you  '11  have  to  strike  ten  before  we  meet  again," 
thought  he  to  himself. 

Hansei  almost  staggered  as  he  walked  through  the  village.  The 
people  who  were  sitting  at  their  doors,  or  standing  about,  sa- 
luted him  and  wished  him  joy,  and  he  well  knew  that,  far  away 
among  the  mountains,  all  were  speaking  of  his  good  luck.  He 
felt  as  if  he  must  cut  himself  into  a  thousand  pieces  in  order  to 
thank  them  all. 

He  was  standing  near  his  garden  and  looking  at  the  hedge. 
How  long  was  it  since  he,  who  had  never  before  known  a  spot 
which  he  could  call  his  home,  had  prized  himself  as  ever  so  happy 
in  the  possession  of  a  little  property  !  And  now  the  grandmother 
was  sitting  in  the  house,  and  he  heard  her  singing  his  child  to 
sleep : 

"  If  all  the  streams  were  naught  but  wine, 
And  all  the  hills  were  gems  so  fine, 
And  all  were  mine : 
Yet  would  my  darling  treasure  be 
Dearer  far  than  all  to  me. 

"And  since  we  needs  must  part, 
One  more  kiss  before  I  start. 
Thou  remain'st,  but  I  must  leave, 
And  parting  sore  the  heart  doth  grieve ; 
But,  though  life  drags,  we  '11  not  despond, 
For  longer  far  is  the  life  beyond." 

"But  though  life  drags,  we  '11  not  despond,  For  longer  far  is  the 
life  beyond."  The  words  sank  deep  irto  Hansei's  heart,  and  the 
fireflies  flitting  about  in  the  darkness,  or  resting  on  fence  and  grass, 
drew  his  glance  hither  and  thither,  as  if  they  were  some  new  and 
startling  phenomenon.  Hansei's  waking  dream  continued  for 
some  time,  and  when  he,  at  last,  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  it 
was  wet  with  the  dew.  He  felt  as  if  some  one  must  carry  him 
inio  the  house  and  put  him  to  bed.  But  a  sudden  turn  caused 
the  roll  of  money  to  touch  his  hip,  and  he  was  wide  awake  again. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  49 

He  walked  far  out  along  the  road,  in  the  same  direction  that  Wal- 
purga  had  gone,  and  at  last  reached  the  pile  of  stones  on  which 
she  had  rested  a  fortnight  ago.  There  was  still  some  hay  lying 
there.  He  sat  down  upon  it  and  gazed  out  at  the  broad  lake,  over 
which  the  moon  shed  its  bright  rays.  It  was  just  as  quiet  as  it  had 
been  a  fortnight  before ;  but  that  was  in  the  daytime,  and  now  it 
was  night.  "Where  can  my  wife  be  now?"  said  he,  springing 
to  his  feet,  so  that  he  might  run  to  her,  though  it  took  the  whole 
night.  "  How  glad  she  will  be  to  have  me  come  to  the  palace 
the  very  first  morning  she  is  there  !"  With  giant  strides  he  hur- 
ried on.  But  he  could  not  help  asking  himself :  "  How  will  it 
be  if  you  have  to  leave  again  to-morrow,  and  what  will  the  folks 
at  home  say,  and  what  will  grandmother  think,  left  all  alone  with 
the  child?" 

And  yet  he  walked  on.  Suddenly,  he  became  alarmed  at  the 
thought  of  the  money  on  his  person.  The  neighborhood  was  safe 
enough,  to  be  sure.  It  was  long  since  any  crime  had  been  heard 
of  in  that  region.  But  still  there  might  be  robbers,  who,  after 
helping  themselves  to  his  treasure,  would  murder  him,  and  throw 
him  into  the  lake.  .  .  .  Tortured  by  fear,  he  hurriedly  turned 
about  and  ran  towards  home. 

Advancing  towards  him,  he  beheld  a  figure  of  threatening 
aspect.  He  grasped  the  knife  in  his  belt — "  If  there  's  only  one, 
and  no  other  's  lying  in  wait,  I  'm  man  enough  to  defend  myself," 
thought  he. 

The  figure  advanced,  greeting  him  from  afar.  The  voice  was 
that  of  a  woman.  Could  Walpurga  have —  No,  that  were  im- 
possible. 

The  figure  halted.  Hansei  advanced  towards  it  and  said  :  "  Oh  ! 
is  it  you,  Esther,  out  on  the  road  so  late?  " 

"  And  is  this  you,  Hansei  ?  "  said  Black  Esther,  laughing  heart- 
ily. "  I  thought  it  was  some  drunken  fellow,  because  I  heard  you, 
a  great  way  off,  talking  to  yourself.  But,  of  course,  now  you  're 
lonely  enough,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  you  walk  in  the  woods  so  late  at  night,  and  all  alone?  " 

"I  must  go  alone,  if  no  one  goes  with  me,"  said  Black  Esther, 
with  a  laugh  that  fell  harshly  upon  the  silent  night.  There  was  a 
pause.  Hansei  could  hear  the  beating  of  his  heart.  Perhaps  it 
was  caused  by  his  rapid  walking. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  he,  at  last.     "Good  night." 

Laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  Black  Esther  said :  "  Hansei, 
I  'm  not  used  to  begging  and,  if  it  were  day,  I  'd  rather  starve 
than  ask  you  for  anything.  But  now,  you  've  a  good  heart  and 
are  doing  well ;  give  me  something,  or  lend  it  to  me.  I  '11  give  it 
back  to  you  again."  She  spoke  so  persuasively  that  'Hansei 
trembled.  Her  hand  still  rested  upon  him  ;  he  was  about  to  feel 
in  his  pocket  for  the  crown  thaler  he  had  saved  from  the  priest, 
3 


50  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

when  he  suddenly  pushed  her  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and  said : 
"  I  '11  give  you  something  another  time."  He  then  ran  off  towards 
home.  Her  shrill  laughter  rang  in  his  ears,  and  it  sounded  as  if 
hundreds  of  voices  were  answering  from  the  rocks.  His  hair 
stood  on  end  and  he  felt,  by  turns,  as  if  shivering  with  cold  and 
burning  with  fever.  She  must  surely  have  been  one  of  the  forest 
demons,  who  had  merely  assumed  the  form  of  Black  Esther.  And 
there  really  were  such  beings,  for  the  old  forest  inspector  had,  on 
his  deathbed,  confessed  to  having  seen  one.  They  wander  about 
when  the  moon  is  at  its  full.  Instead  of  wearing  clothes,  they 
merely  wind  their  long  hair  about  their  bodies,  and  on  such  a 
night  as  this,  when  the  mother  is  away  from  her  child,  they  can — 

Hansei  had  never  before  run  so  fast,  or  found  the  road  by  the 
lake  so  long,  as  on  this  very  night. 

He  reached  home  at  last  and,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  the 
house  was  still  there,  touched  the  walls  with  his  hands.  Nothing 
had  been  disturbed.  All  wras  as  he  had  left  it. 

He  went  indoors.  The  light  in  the  room  was  still  burning. 
The  grandmother  was  sitting  on  a  low  stool,  and  had  the  child  on 
her  lap.  With  one  hand,  she  hid  her  eyes — they  were  red  with 
weeping ;  with  the  other,  she  motioned  Hansei  to  step  lightly. 

Hansei  did  not  observe  that  there  had  been,  and  still  was,  some- 
thing wrong  with  his  mother-in-law.  He  had  taken  a  seat  behind 
the  table,  was  thinking  of  no  one  but  himself,  and  felt  as  tired 
and  ill  at  ease  as  if  he  had  just  returned  from  a  long  and  danger- 
ous journey.  He  was  even  obliged  to  remind  himself  that,  although 
he  was  at  home,  it  was  no  longer  the  right  sort  of  a  home.  The 
grandmother  placed  the  child  in  the  cradle  and  sat  down,  resting 
her  chin  upon  her  closed  hand.  Thoughts  far  different  from 
Hansei's  had  passed  through  her  mind.  Stasi  had  remained 
with  the  grandmother  for  some  time  after  Hansei  left  the  house. 
How  it  would  fare  with  Walpurga,  was  a  topic  of  but  short  dura- 
tion with  them  ;  for  what  could  they  say,  or  know,  about  that  ? 
When  it  began  to  grow  dark,  Stasi  spoke  of  going,  and  promised 
to  come  again  the  next  day.  The  grandmother  nodded  assent. 
She  preferred  being  alone,  for  then  there  would  be  nothing  to  pre- 
vent her  thinking  of  her  child.  Her  prayers  followed  Walpurga ; 
but  the  words  flowed  forth  so  easily  that  her  mind  was  elsewhere 
much  of  the  time.  Her  first  thought  was  :  Walpurga  must  be  say- 
ing the  same  prayer  and,  although  ever}'  word  lengthens  the  dis- 
tance between  us,  we  are  together  in  spirit,  nevertheless.  She  felt 
happy  that  Walpurga  had  turned  out  so  well  in  all  things,  and  that 
she  could  be  depended  upon.  It  was  hard  to  be  among  strangers ; 
but  they  were  men  and  women,  after  all.  At  times,  her  heart 
would  misgive  her,  lest  Walpurga  should  not  be  able  to  hold  out  to 
the  end.  She  has  lots  of  good  notions — if  she  only  thinks  of 
.hem  at  the  right  time.  "  For  my  sake,  if  for  nothing  else,  you  '11 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  51 

keep  yourself  pure,"  said  she  aloud,  as  she  ended  her  prayer.  All 
at  once,  she  felt  so  lonely  and  forlorn.  She  had  never  passed 
a  night  without  Walpurga,  and,  looking  up  at  the  stars,  she 
wished  it  were  day  again.  Hansei  might  just  as  well  have  re- 
mained at  home ;  still,  it  was  a  great  honor  to  be  invited  by  the 
priest.  He  '11  surely  send  home  a  schoppen  of  wine  to  gladden 
grandmother's  heart ;  and  if  it  be  only  half  a  schoppen,  it  '11  show 
his  good  heart.  Her  tongue  seemed  as  if  parched  ;  she  thirsted 
for  the  wine,  and  listened  for  a  long  while,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
she  might  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  innkeeper's  servant,  bringing 
the  bottle  under  her  apron.  At  last,  pity  for  herself  made  her 
indescribably  miserable,  and  she  burst  into  tears.  O  that  her  hus- 
band were  still  alive  !  A  poor  widow  woman  is  always  expected  to 
be  at  hand,  but  no  one  thinks  of  how  it  fares  with  her.  Tears 
came  to  her  relief;  for,  after  a  little  while,  she  said  to  herself: 
"  What  an  awful  sinner  you  are  !  Is  n't  it  enough  to  have  clothes 
and  food  and  a  home,  and  never  to  hear  a  harsh  word  ?  You 
ought  to  be  thankful  that  you  're  still  active  enough  to  be  of  use  to 
others." 

As  if  ashamed  of  herself,  she  turned  away,  wiped  the  tears  from 
her  furrowed  face,  and  then  sang  cheerful  songs  to  the  child. 
Then  she  waited  silently,  until  Hansei,  at  last,  returned.  And 
thus  he  found  her,  seated  beside  the  cradle  and  resting  her  chin 
upon  her  clenched  hand. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long?"  asked  the  grandmother,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  I  hardly  know,  myself." 

"  Walpurga  must  be  in  bed  by  this  time." 

"Very  likely;  they  can  travel  fast,  four-in-hand." 

"Do  you  hear  the  cow  lowing?  The  poor  beast  is  n't  used 
to  be  alone  and,  this  very  evening,  the  butcher  drove  her  calf  by 
the  stable.  It 's  awful  to  hear  her  moan.  Do  go  and  look  after 
her." 

Hansei  went  out  to  the  stable,  and  the  cow  became  perfectly 
quiet.  He  walked  away,  and  she  began  lowing  again.  He 
returned  and  spoke  to  her  kindly.  As  long  as  he  talked  to  her 
and  kept  his  hand  upon  her  back,  she  was  quiet ;  but  as  soon  as 
he  left  her,  she  would  low  more  piteously  than  before.  In 
despair,  he  was  constantly  going  back  and  forth,  between  the  room 
and  the  stable.  He  returned  several  times,  gave  her  some  fodder, 
and  then  sat  down  on  a  bundle  of  hay.  At  last  the  cow  lay  down 
and  slept,  and  Hansei,  overcome  with  fatigue,  also  fell  asleep. 
Indeed,  few  had  ever  gone  through  so  much  in  one  day  as  our 
poor  Hansei  had. 


52  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

WHEN  Walpurga  awoke  next  morning,  she  fancied  heiself 
at  home,  and  looked  at  the  strange  surroundings  as  if  it  were 
all  a  dream  that  would  not  vanish  at  her  bidding.  She  gradually 
realized  what  had  happened.  Closing  her  eyes  again,  she  said  her 
prayers  and  then  boldly  looked  about  her ;  the  same  sun  that 
shone  on  the  cottage  by  the  lake,  shone  on  the  palace,  too. 

Full  of  fresh  courage,  she  arose. 

She  lay  at  the  window  for  a  long  while,  looking  at  the  scene  so 
strange  to  her. 

She  saw  nothing  of  the  bustling  city.  The  palace  square, 
encircled  by  thick,  bushy  orange  trees,  was  far  removed  from  the 
noise  of  the  streets.  At  the  palace  gate,  two  soldiers,  with  their 
muskets  at  rest,  were  seen  marching  up  and  down. 

But  Walpurga's  thoughts  wandered  homeward.  In  her  mind's 
eye,  she  saw  the  cottage  by  the  lake  and  all  within  its  walls.  In 
fancy,  she  heard  the  crackling  of  the  wood  with  which  her  mother 
kindled  the  fire,  and  saw  the  lamp  which  she  took  from  the 
kitchen-shelf.  We  have  milk  ip  the  house,  for  we  've  got  a  cow. 
Mother  will  be  glad  to  go  milking  again.  I  'm  sure  they  never 
light  a  fire  at  home  without  thinking  of  me.  And  the  chattering 
starlings,  up  in  the  cherry  tree,  are  saying : 

"Our  goodwife  is  gone  ;  a  cow  has  taken  her  place." 

Walpurga  smiled  and  went  on  thinking  to  herself:  My  Hansei  's 
over-sleeping  himself  this  morning.  If  you  did  n't  call  him,  he  'd 
sleep  till  noon  ;  he  never  wakes  of  himself.  She  hears  her  mother 
calling :  "  Get  up,  Hansei ;  the  sun  is  burning  a  hole  in  your  bed  !  " 
He  gets  up  and  washes  his  face  at  the  pump,  and  now  she  sees 
them  at  their  meal ;  the  child  is  fed  with  good  milk.  If  I  'd  only 
taken  a  good  look  at  the  cow  !  And  now  Hansei  is  getting  fodder 
for  it  from  the  innkeeper.  If  he  only  does  n't  let  the  rogue  cheat 
him  ;  and  Hansei  will  feel  more  forlorn  than  the  child  ;  but,  thank 
God,  he  has  work  enough  to  keep  him  busy.  It 's  fishing  time, 
and  so  he  does  n't  go  into  the  woods.  I  see  him  jump  into  his 
boat ;  what  a  noise  he  makes  !  The  oars  are  plashing,  and  n\vay 
he  rows  to  catch  what  fish  he  can. 

Walpurga  would  have  gone  on  picturing  to  herself  her  hcme  at 
noon  and  at  evening.  Suddenly,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  lost  her 
reason.  Absence  and  death  are  almost  one  and  the  same.  You 
can  have  no  idea  of  how  it  will  be  one  hour  after  your  death  ;  you 
cannot  imagine  yourself  out  of  the  world.  Her  head  swam  and,  as 
if  startled  by  an  apparition,  she  .turned  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer, 
and  said : 

"Let's  talk!" 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  required  no  second  hint,  and  told  Wal- 
purga that  every  one  in  the  palace  knew  of  the  queen's  having 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  S3 

kissed  her  the  night  before,  and  that  it  would  be  in  all  the  news- 
papers of  the  next  day. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Walpurga ;  whereupon  Mademoiselle  Kramer 
declared  that,  although  it  "made  no  difference  in  her  case,  it  was 
highly  improper  to  answer  in  that  way,  and.  told  her,  also,  that 
she  ought  always  express  herself  distinctly  and  in  a  respectful 
manner. 

Walpurga  looked  up  and  listened,  as  if  waiting  for  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  to  continue  and,  at  last,  said  :  "  My  dear  father  once  said 
almost  the  very  same  thing  to  me  ;  but  I  was  too  young  to  under- 
stand it  then.  All  I  meant  to  say  was,  that  the  city  people  must 
have  very  little  to  do,  if  they  can  make  a  fuss  about  such  a  mat- 
ter" — mentally  concluding  her  remarks  with  another  "  pshaw  !  " 

The  little  prince  awoke.  Walpurga  took  him  up  and  speedily 
put  him  to  sleep,  while  she  sang  in  a  clear  voice : 

Ah,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 

That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee, 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by 

When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

When  she  had  finished  her  sorig,  and  had  placed  the  child  in 
the  cradle,  she  looked  toward  the  door  and  beheld  the  king  and 
Doctor  Gunther  standing  there. 

"You  sing  finely,"  said  the  king. 

"Pshaw  !"  said  Walpurga,  and,  acting  as  her  own  interpreter, 
she  quickly  added,  while  casting  a  hurried  glance  at  Mademoiselle 
Kramer :  "  It 's  good  enough  for  home  use,  but  net  particularly 
fine." 

The  king  and  Doctor  Gunther  were  delighted  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  child. 

"The  day  on  which  one  beholds  his  child  for  the  first  time  is  a 
red-letter  day,"  observed  the  king;  and  Walpurga,  as  if  to  confirm 
what  he  had  said,  added  : 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  that  makes  one  look  at  the  world  with  different 
eyes.  His  majesty  told  the  truth  that  time." 

Although  her  remark  caused  the  king  to  smile,  it  was  received 
in  silence.  Accompanied  by  Doctor  Gunther,  he  soon  left  the 
room.  After  they  had  gone,  Mademoiselle  Kramer  endeavored, 
as  delicately  as  possible,  to  impress  Walpurga  with  the  importance 
of  observing  the  first  commandment : 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  their  majesties,  unless  they  ask  you  a 
question." 

"That's  sensible,"  exclaimed  Walpurga,  to  the  great  surprise 
of  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  "  That  prevents  you  from  hearing  any- 
thing out  of  the  way.  What  a  clever  idea  !  I  won't  forget  that." 

During  breakfast,  in  the  pavilion,  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen  that 
Mademoiselle  Kramer,  and  perhaps  Walpurga,  too,  had  spoken 


54  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

truly.  The  various  groups  on  the  verandah  and  under  the  orange 
trees  were  engaged  in  what  seemed  to  be  confidential  conversation. 
Aitei  they  had  sounded  each  other,  and  had  satisfied  themselves 
that  they  could  safely  indulge  in  scandal,  the  common  topic  was 
the  manner  in  which  the  queen's  sentimentality  had  manifested 
itself  in  her  behavior  toward  the  nurse.  It  was  agreed  that  this 

mawkishness  was  an  unfortunate  legacy  from  the  house  of . 

Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  Countess  Brinkenstein  \\as 
quite  ill  with  anger  at  the  queen's  disregard  of  etiquette. 

"The  queen's  conduct  deprives  her  favors  of  their  value,"  said 
an  elderly  court  lady,  who  must  have  had  at  least  a  pound  and  a 
half  of  false  hair  on  her  head. 

"  Nothing  is  so  great  a  bore  as  mawkish  sensibility,"  observed 
another  one  of  the  ladies  attached  to  the  palace.  She  was  corpu- 
lent, and  piously  inclined  withal.  As  if  to  cover  her  ill-natured 
remark  with  the  mantle  of  charity,  she  added  : 

"  The  queen  is  n't  much  more  than  a  child,  and  really  means 
well  at  heart." 

She  had  thus  made  herself  safe  with  both  parties — those  who 
praised,  and  those  who  abused  the  queen. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  slept  but  little,"  said  an  elderly  lady, 
addressing  a  very  young  and  pale-looking  one. 

"  You  are  right,"  sighed  the  latter,  in  reply.  "  I  sat  up  to  read 

the  last  volume  of "  giving  the  name  of  a  recent  unequivocal 

French  novel — "and  finished  it  at  a  single  sitting.  I  shall  return 
the  book  to  you  to-day.  It  is  very  interesting." 

"  Please  let-me  have  it  next,"  resounded  from  several  quarters  at 
once. 

The  pious  lady,  who  had,  indeed,  read  the  novel  in  secret  and 
was  loth  to  talk  of  such  subjects,  changed  the  conversation  by 
introducing  the  topic  of  Walpurga.  As  the  latest  piece  of  news, 
she  acquainted  them  with  the  report  that  the  nurse  could  sing 
beautifully. 

"Who  sings  beautifully?"  inquired  Countess  Irma,  joining  the 
group. 

"  This  will  interest  you,  dear  Wildenort.  You  will  be  able  to 
learn  many  new  songs  from  Walpurga,  and  accompany  them  on 
the  zither." 

"  I  '11  wait  until  we  are  in  the  country  again.  A  peasant  woman 
seems  strangely  out  of  place  in  a  palace.  WThen  does  the  court 
return  to  the  country  ?  " 

"  Not  for  six  weeks." 

There  was  much  talk  about  Walpurga.  One  lady  maintained 
that  Doctor  Gunther  was  a  native  of  the  Highlands,  and  that  it 
was  only  through  his  intriguing  that  a  nurse  had  to  be  brought 
from  the  same  region  ;  that  he  was  constantly  surrounding  himself 
with  allies,  and  was  clever  enough  to  know  that  this  person  would 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  ft 

exert  a  great  influence  upon  the  queen.  They  also  spoke  of  the 
Doctor's  love  of  intrigue,  and  of  his  affecting  to  sympathize  with 
the  queen  in  all  her  extravagant  fancies.  Of  one  thing  they  all  felt 
assured  :  that  it  was  impossible  to  retain  the  favor  of  the  court  for 
so  long  a  time,  by  fair  means  alone. 

"  The  Doctor  is  n't  so  very  old,"  remarked  a  very  thin  lady.  "  He 
is  only  a  little  over  fifty.  I  think  he  must  have  dyed  his  hair  white, 
in  order  to  appear  venerable  before  his  time." 

Loud  laughter  greeted  this  sally. 

Before  breakfast,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  in  separate 
groups.  A  knot  of  courtiers  were  discussing  the  telegrams  which 
had  been  sent  out  to  various  governments,  and  to  which  in  some 
instances,  replies  had  already  been  received. 

It  was  not  until  after  breakfast  that  a  council  of  the  royal 
household  was  to  determine  who,  besides  the  queen's  parents, 
should  be  invited  to  stand  as  sponsors.  It  was  even  reported 
that  the  christening  would  be  celebrated  by  a  special  papal  nuncio, 
assisted  by  the  bishop. 

Countess  Irma's  brother,  the  king's  aid-de-camp,  again  diverted 
the  conversation  from  such  lofty  topics  back  to  Walpurga.  He 
extolled  her  beauty  and  her  droll  ways,  and  they  smacked  their 
lips,  when  they  spoke  of  the  queen's  kiss.  The  aid-de-camp  had 
given  vent  to  a  joke  on  the  subject,  at  which  they  laughed  up- 
roariously. 

"  The  king  !  "  suddenly  whispered  several  of  the  gentlemen. 

They  separated  and,  while  making  their  obeisance,  arranged 
themselves  in  two  rows.  The  king,  acknowledging  their  saluta- 
tion, passed  between  the  rows  and  entered  the  hall  of  Diana, 
where  breakfast  was  served.  The  frescoes  on  the  ceiling  repre- 
sented the  goddess  with  her  hunting  train,  and  had  been  painted 
by  a  pupil  of  Rubens.  The  lord  steward  handed  a  packet  of 
telegrams  to  the  king,  who  instructed  him  to  open  them,  and  in- 
form him  when  they  contained  anything  more  than  congratula- 
tions. 

They  now  sat  down  to  breakfast. 

The  company  was  not  so  cheerful  and  unconstrained  as  it  had 
been  at  the  summer  palace.  Indeed,  no  one  had  yet  recovered 
from  the  excitement  of  the  previous  night,  and  conversation  was 
carried  on  in  a  quiet  tone. 

"  Countess  Irma,"  said  the  king,  "  I  commend  Walpurga  to  you  ; 
she  will  be  sure  to  please  you.  You  will  be  able  to  learn  some 
beautiful  songs  from  her,  and  to  teach  her  new  ones." 

"  Thanks,  Your  Majesty !  If  Your  Majesty  would  tmly  deign 
to  order  the  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber  to  grant  me  access,  at 
all  times,  to  the  apartments  of  his  royal  highness  the  crown 
prince." 

"  Pray  see  to  it,  dear  Rittersfeld  !  "  said  the  king,  turning  to  the 
lord  steward. 


$6  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Countess  Irma,  who  sat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  received 
the  congratulations  of  all.  Walpurga  had  become  the  sole  topic 
of  conversation. 

The  morning  papers  were  brought  to  the  king.  He  glanced 
through  them  hurriedly  and,  throwing  them  aside  with  an  angry 
air,  said : 

"This  babbling  press!  The  queen's  kiss  is  already  in  all  the 
newspapers."  His  face  darkened  ;  it  was  evident  that,  as  the  fact 
itself  had  displeased  him,  the  publicity  given  it  was  doubly  annoy- 
ing. After  a  time,  he  said  : 

"  I  desire  you,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  to  see  to  it  that  the  queen 
does  not  hear  of  this."  He  rose  quickly  and  left  the  apartment. 

The  breakfast  party  lingered  for  some  time,  and  the  pious  lady 
could  now  openly  join  the  ranks  of  the  scandal-mongers.  The 
mantle  of  charity  was  no  longer  necessary — it  was  very  evident 
that  the  king  had  already  tired  of  his  sentimental  wife. 

If  Countess  Irma — ?  Who  could  tell  but  what  this  was  part  of 
a  deep-laid  plan  to  give  her  free  access  to  the  crown  prince's 
apartments?  The  king  could  meet  her  there — and  who  knows 
but  that — 

They  were  quite  ingenious  in  the  malicious  conjectures  which 
they  whispered  to  each  other  with  great  caution  and  circumspec- 
tion. For  a  while,  at  least,  Walpurga,  the  queen  and  even  the 
crown  prince  were  completely  forgotten. 

CHAPTER     XIII. 

4 '  ^PHERE,  my  boy  !  Now  you  've  seen  the  sun.  May  you  see 
1  it  for  seven  and  seventy  years  to  come,  and  when  they  've 
run  their  course,  may  the  Lord  grant  you  a  new  lease  of  life.  Last 
night,  they  lit  millions  of  lamps  for  your  sake.  But  they  were 
nothing  to  the  sun  up  in  heaven,  which  the  Lord  himself  lighted 
for  you  this  very  morning.  Be  a  good  boy,  always,  so  that  you 
may  deserve  to  nave  the  sun  shine  on  you.  Yes,  now  the  angel  %s 
whispering  to  you.  Laugh  while  you  sleep !  That  's  right. 
There  's  one  angel  belongs  to  you  on  earth,  and  that  's  your 
mother  !  And  you  're  mine,  too  !  You  're  mine,  indeed  !  " 

Thus  spake  Walpurga,  her  voice  soft,  yet  full  of  emotion,  while 
she  gazed  into  the  face  of  the  child  that  lay  on  her  lap.  Her  soul 
was  already  swayed  by  that  mysterious  bond  of  affection  which 
never  fails  to  develop  itself  in  the  heart  of  the  foster-mother.  It 
is  a  noble  trait  in  human  nature,  that  we  love  those  on  whom  we 
can  confer- a  kindness.  Their  whole  life  gradually  becomes  inter- 
woven with  our  own. 

Walpurga  became  oblivious  of  herself  and  of  all  that  was  dear 
to  her  in  the  cottage  by  the  lake.  She  was  now  needed  here,  where 
a  young  life  had  been  assigned  to  her  loving  charge. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  57 

She  looked  up  at  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  with  beaming  eyes,  and 
met  a  joyful  glance  in  return. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Walpurga,  "that  a  paiace  is  just  like  a 
church.  One  has  only  good  and  pious  thoughts  here  ;  and  all  the 
people  are  so  kind  and  frank." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  suddenly  smiled  and  replied  : 

"  My  dear  child — " 

"  Do  n't  call  me  '  child  ' !     I  'm  not  a  child  !     I  'm  a  mother  !  " 

"  But  here,  in  the  great  world,  you  are  only  a  child.  A  court  is 
a  strange  place.  Some  go  hunting,  others  go  fishing ;  one  builds, 
another  paints  ;  one  studies  a  role,  another  a  piece  of  music  ;  a 
dancer  learns  a  new  step,  an  author  writes  a  new  book.  Every  one 
in  the  land  is  doing  something, — cooking  or  baking,  drilling  or 
practicing,  writing,  painting,  or  dancing — simply  in  order  that  the 
king  and  queen  may  be  entertained." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Walpurga,  and  Mademoiselle  Kramer 
continued : 

"  My  family  has  been  in  the  service  of  the  court  for  sixteen  gen- 
erations ;" — six  would  have  been  the  right  number,  but  sixteen 
sounded  so  much  better  ; — "  my  father  is  the  governor  of  the  sum- 
mer palace,  and  I  was  born  there.  I  know  all  about  the  court, 
and  can  teach  you  a  great  deal." 

"  And  I  '11  be  glad  to  learn,"  interposed  Walpurga. 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  every  one  is  kindly  disposed  towards  you  ? 
Take  my  word  for  it,  a  palace  contains  people  of  all  sorts,  good 
and  bad.  All  the  vices  abound  in  such  a  place.  And  there  are 
many  other  matters  of  which  you  have  no  idea  and  of  which  you 
will,  I  trust,  ever  remain  ignorant.  But  all  you  meet  are  wondrous 
polite.  Try  to  remain  just  as  you  now  are  and,  when  you  leave 
the  palace,  let  it  be  as  the  same  Walpurga  you  were  when  you 
came  here." 

Walpurga  stared  at  her,  in  surprise.     Who  could  change  her? 

Word  came  that  the  queen  was  awake  and  desired  Walpurga  to 
bring  the  crown  prince  to  her. 

Accompanied  by  Doctor  Gunther,  Mademoiselle  Kramer  and 
two  -waiting-women,  she  proceeded  to  the  queen's  bedchamber. 
The  queen  lay  there,  calm  and  beautiful,  and,  with  a  smile  of  greet- 
ing, turned  her  face  towards  those  who  had  entered.  The  cur- 
tains had  been  partially  drawn  aside  and  a  broad,  slanting  ray  of 
light  shone  into  the  apartment,  which  seemed  still  more  peace- 
ful than  during  the  breathless  silence  of  the  previous  night. 

"  Good  morning ! "  said  the  queen,  with  a  voice  full  of  feeling. 
"Let  me  have  my  child!"  She  looked  down  at  the  babe  that 
rested  in  her  arms  and  then,  without  noticing  any  one  in  the  room, 
lifted  her  glance  on  high  and  faintly  murmured  : 

"This  is  the  first  time  I  behold  my  child  in  the  daylight ! " 

All  were  silent ;  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  naught  in  the  apart- 


5S  0.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ment  except  the  broad  slanting  ray  of  light  that  streamed  in  at  the 
window. 

"Have  you  slept  well?"  enquired  the  queen.  Walpurga  was 
glad  that  the  queen  had  asked  a  question,  for  now  she  could 
answer.  Casting  a  hurried  glance  at  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  she 
said : 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  Sleep  's  the  first,  the  last,  and  the  best  thing  in 
the  world." 

"She  's  clever,"  said  the  queen,  addressing  Doctor  Gunther  in 
French. 

Walpurga's  heart  sank  within  her.  Whenever  she  heard  them 
speak  French,  she  felt  as  if  they  were  betraying  her  ;  as  if  they  had 
put  on  an  invisible  cap,  like  that  worn  by  the  goblins  in  the  fairy- 
tale, and  could  thus  speak  without  being  seen. 

"  Did  the  prince  sleep  well  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 

Walpurga  passed  her  hand  over  her  face,  as  if  to  brush  away  a 
spider  that  had  been  creeping  there.  The  queen  does  n't  speak  of 
her  "child"  or  her  "son,"  but  only  of  "the  crown  prince." 

Walpurga  answered : 

"Yes,  quite  well,  thank  God!  That  is,  I  couldn't  hear  him, 
and  I  only  wanted  to  say  that  I  'd  like  to  act  toward  the — "  she 
could  not  say  "  the  prince  " — "  that  is,  towards  him,  as  I  'd  do  with 
my  own  child.  We  began  right  on  the  very  first  day.  My  mother 
taught  me  that.  Such  a  child  has  a  will  of  its  own  from  the  very 
start,  and  it  won't  do  to  give  way  to  it.  It  won't  do  to  take  it 
from  the  cradle,  or  to  feed  it,  whenever  it  pleases ;  there  ought  to 
be  regular  times  for  all  those  things.  It  '11  soon  get  used  to  that, 
and  it  won't  harm  it  either,  to  let  it  cry  once  in  a  while.  On  the 
contrary-,  that  expands  the  chest." 

"  Does  he  cry  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 

The  infant  answered  the  question  for  itself,  for  it  at  once  began 
to  cry  most  lustily. 

"  Take  him  and  quiet  him,"  begged  the  queen. 

The  king  entered  the  apartment  before  the  child  had  stopped 
crying. 

"He  will  have  a  good  voice  of  command,"  said  he,  kissing  the 
queen's  hand. 

Walpurga  quieted  the  child,  and  she  and  Mademoiselle  Kramer 
were  sent  back  to  their  apartments. 

The  king  informed  the  queen  of  the  dispatches  that  had  been 
received,  and  of  the  sponsors  who  had  been  decided  upon.  She 
was  perfectly  satisfied  with  all  the  arrangements  that  had  been 
made. 

When  Walpurga  had  returned  to  her  room  and  had  placed  the 
child  in  the  cradle,  she  walked  up  and  down  and  seemed  quite  ag- 
itated. 

"There  are  no  angels  in  this  world  !"  said  she.     "They're  all 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  59 

just  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  who  knows  but — "  She  was  vexed  at 
the  queen  :  "  Why  won't  she  listen  patiently  when  her  child  cries  ? 
We  must  take  all  our  children  bring  us,  whether  it  be  joy  or  pain." 

She  stepped  out  into  the  passage-way  and  heard  the  tones  of 
the  organ  in  the  palace  chapel.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  these 
sounds  displeased  her.  It  don't  belong  in  the  house,  thought  she 
where  all  sorts  of  things  are  going  on.  The  church  ought  to  stan  J 
by  itself. 

When  she  returned  to  the  room,  she  found  a  stranger  there. 
Mademoiselle  Kramer  informed  her  that  this  was  the  tailor  to  the 
queen. 

Walpurga  laughed  outright  at  the  notion  of  a  "tailor  to  the 
queen."  The  elegantly  attired  person  looked  at  her  in  amazement, 
while  Mademoiselle  Kramer  explained  to  her  that  this  was  the 
dressmaker  to  her  majesty  the  queen,  and  that  he  had  come  to 
take  her  measure  for  three  new  dresses. 

"  Am  I  to  wear  city  clothes  ?  " 

"God  forbid  !  You  're  to  wear  the  dress  of  your  neighborhood, 
and  can  order  a  stomacheY  in  red,  blue,  green,  or  any  color  that 
you  like  best." 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say ;  but  I  'd  like  to  have  a  workday 
suit,  too,  Sunday  clothes  on  week  days — that  won't  do." 

"At  court,  one  always  wears  Sunday  clothes,  and  when  her 
majesty  drives  out  again  you  will  have  to  accompany  her." 

"  All  right,  then.     I  won't  object." 

While  the  tailor  took  her  measure,  Walpurga  laughed  incessantly, 
and  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  ask  her  to  hold  still,  so  that  he  might 
go  on  with  his  work.  Putting  his  measure  into  his  pocket,  he  in- 
formed Mademoiselle  Kramer  that  he  had  ordered  an  exact  model, 
and  that  the  chief  master  of  ceremonies  had  favored  him  with 
several  drawings,  so  that  there  might  be  no  doubt  of  success. 

Finally,  he  asked  permission  to  see  the  crown  prince.  Made- 
moiselle Kramer  was  about  to  let  him  do  so,  but  Walpurga  objected. 
"Before  the  child  is  christened,"  said  she,  "no  one  shall  look  at  it 
just  out  of  curiosity,  and  least  of  all,  a  tailor,  or  else  the  child 
will  never  turn  out  the  right  sort  of  man." 

The  tailor  took  his  leave,  Mademoiselle  Kramer  having  politely 
hinted  to  him  that  nothing  could  be  done  with  the  superstition  of 
the  lower  orders,  and  that  it  would  not  do  to  irritate  the  nurse. 

This  occurrence  induced  Walpurga  to  administer  the  first 
serious  reprimand  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  She  could  not  under- 
stand why  she  was  so  willing  to  make  an  exhibition  of  the  child. 
"  Nothing  does  a  child  more  harm  than  to  let  strangers  look  at  it  in 
its  sleep,  and  a  tailor  at  that." 

All  the  wild  fun  with  which,  in  popular  songs,  tailors  are  held 
up  to  scorn  and  ridicule,  found  vent  in  Walpurga,  and  she  began 
singing : 


6o  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Just  list,  ye  braves,  who  love  to  roam ! 

A  snail  was  chasing  a  tailor  home. 

And  if  Old  Shears  had  n't  run  so  fast, 

The  snail  would  surely  have  caught  him  at  lai .. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer's  acquaintance  with  the  court  tailcr  had 
lowered  her  in  Walpurga's  esteem,  and  with  an  evident  effort  tc 
mollify  the  latter,  she  asked  : 

"  Does  the  idea  of  your  new  and  beautiful  clothes  really  afford 
you  no  pleasure  ?  " 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  no !  I  don't  wear  them  for  my  own 
sake,  but  for  that  of  others,  who  dress  me  to  please  themselves. 
It 's  all  the  same  to  me,  however  !  I  've  given  myself  up  to  them, 
and  suppose  I  must  submit." 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  a  pleasant  voice.  Countess  Irma 
entered  the  room.  Extending  both  her  hands  to  Walpurga,  she 
said  : 

"  God  greet  you,  my  countrywoman  !  I  am  also  from  the  High- 
lands, seven  hours  distance  from  your  village.  I  know  it  well,  and 
once  sailed  over  the  lake  with  your  father.  Does  he  still  live  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  no  ;  he  was  drowned,  and  the  lake  has  n't  given  up  its 
dead." 

"  He  was  a  fine-looking  old  man,  and  you  are  the  very  image  of 
him." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  some  one  else  here  wrho  knew  my  father. 
The  court  tailor — I  mean  the  court  doctor — knew  him,  too.  Yes, 
search  the  land  through,  you  could  n't  have  found  a  better  man 
than  my  father,  and  no  one  can  help  but  admit  it." 

"Yes :  I  've  often  heard  as  much." 

"  May  I  ask  your  ladyship's  name  ?  " 

"Countess  Wildenort." 

"Wildenort?  I  've  heard  the  name  before.  Yes,  I  remember 
my  mother's  mentioning  it.  Your  father  was  known  as  a  very 
kind  and  benevolent  man.  Has  he  been  dead  a  long  while  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  still  living." 

"  Is  he  here,  too  ?  " 

-No." 

"  And  as  what  are  you  here,  Countess  ?  " 

"As  maid  of  honor." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"Being  attached  to  the  queen's  person ;  or  what,  in  your  part 
of  the  country,  would  be  called  a  companion  ! " 

"  Indeed  !  And  is  your  father  willing  to  let  them  use  you  that 
way  ?  " 

Countess  Irma,  who  was  somewhat  annoyed  by  her  questions, 
said: 

"  I  wished  to  ask  you  something — can  you  write  ?  " 

"I  once  could,  but  I  've  quite  forgotten  how." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  61 

"Then  I  've  just  hit  it !  that  's  the  very  reason  for  my  coming 
Mere.  Now,  whenever  you  wish  to  write  home,  you  can  dictate 
your  letter  to  me,  and  I  will  write  whatever  you  tell  me  to." 

"  I  could  have  done  that,  too,"  suggested  Mademoiselle  Kramer, 
timidly;  "and  your  ladyship  would  not  have  needed  to  trouble 
yourself." 

"  No,  the  Countess  will  write  for  me.     Shall  it  be  now  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

But  Walpurga  had  to  go  to  the  child.  While  she  was  in  the 
next  room,  Countess  Irma  and  Mademoiselle  Kiamer  engaged 
each  other  in  conversation. 

When  Walpurga  returned,  she  found  Irma,  pen  in  hand,  and  at 
once  began  to  dictate. 

"  Dear  husband,  dear  mother,  and  dear  child.  No,  stop  !  do  n't 
write  that !  Take  another  sheet  of  paper.  Now  I  've  got  it,  now 
you  can  go  on." 

"  I  wish  to  let  you  know,  that  by  the  help  of  God,  I  arrived  here 
safe  and  sound,  in  the  carriage  with  the  four  horses.  I  do  n't 
know  how.  And  the  queen  's  an  angel,  and  there  were  millions 
of  lights,  and  my  child — " 

Walpurga  covered  her  face  with  both  hands — she  had  said  "  my 
child,1'  without  knowing  which  child  she  meant. 

A  pause  ensued. 

"And  my  child,"  said  Countess  Irma,  repeating  the  words  after 
her. 

"No!"  exclaimed  Walpurga,  "I  can't  write  to-day.  Excuse 
me  ;  there  's  no  use  trying.  But  you  've  promised  to  write  for  me 
to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  Do  come  and  see  us  every  day." 

"  And  shall  I  bring  a  good  friend  with  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  any  friend  of  yours  will  be  welcome.  Is  n't  it  so, 
Mademoisellle  Kramer?" 

"Certainly;  Countess  Irma  has  special  permission." 

"  I  '11  bring  a  very  good  friend  with  me  ;  she  can  sing  charmingly, 
and  her  voice  is  soft  and  gentle — but  I  '11  not  torment  you  with 
riddles ;  I  play  the  zither,  and  will  bring  mine  with  me." 

"  You  play  the  zither  ? "  exclaimed  Walpurga,  scarcely  able 
to  contain  herself  for  joy. 

Any  further  expressions  on  her  part  were  prevented  by  the 
presence  of  the  king,  who  entered  at  that  moment. 

With  a  gentle  inclination  of  the  head,  he  greeted  Countess  Irma, 
who  had  risen  from  her  seat  and  bowed  so  low  that  it  seemed  as 
though  she  meant  to  sit  down  on  the  floor. 

"  What  are  you  WTiting?  "  asked  the  king. 

"Walpurga's  secrets,  may  it  please  Your  Majesty,"  replied 
Countess  Irma. 

"  The  king  may  read  all  that 's  there,"  said  Walpurga,  handing 
him  the  sheet. 


62  a\T  THE  HEIGHTS 

He  hurriedly  ran  his  eye  over  it,  and  then,  with  a  glance  at  the 
Countess,  folded  it  and  put  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"I  shall  sing  with  Walpurga,"  said  Irma,  "and  Your  Majesty 
will  again  observe  that  music  is  the  highest  good  on  earth.  Sing- 
ing together,  Walpurga  and  I  are  equals.  The  creations  of  other 
arts,  poetry  especially,  may  be  translated  by  every  one  into  his  own 
l.mguage,  according  to  the  measure  of  his  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence." 

"  Quite  true,"  replied  the  king ;  "  music  is  the  universal  language, 
the  only  one  that  requires  no  translation,  and  in  which  soul  speaks 
to  soul." 

While  they  were  thus  talking,  Walpurga  stared  at  them  in  dumb 
amazement. 

The  king,  accompanied  by  Countess  Irma,  looked  at  the  prince 
for  a  little  while,  and  then,  haying  said  :  "  The  christening  will  take 
place  next  Sunday,"  he  withdrew. 

It  was  with  a  strange  expression  that  Walpurga's  eyes  followed 
the  king  and  then  rested  in  earnest  gaze  upon  Countess  Irma. 

The  Countess  busied  herself  with  the  papers,  and  then,  with 
cheerful  voice,  took  leave  of  Walpurga.  Her  cheerfulness  almost 
seemed  constrained,  for  she  laughed  while  there  was  nothing  to 
laugh  at. 

For  a  long  while,  Walpurga  stood  looking  at  the  curtains,  be- 
hind which  the  Countess  had  disappeared,  and  at  last  said  to 
Mademoiselle  Kramer : 

"  You  told  the  truth,  when  you  said  that  the  palace  is  n't  a 
church." 

She  did  not  enter  into  any  further  explanation. 

"I  will  teach  you  how  to  write,"  said  Mademoiselle  Kramer \ 
"it  will  be  pleasant  employment  for  us,  and  you  will  then  be  able 
to  do  your  own  writing  to  your  family." 

"Yes,  that  I  will,"  said  Walpurga. 

CHAPTERXIV. 

' '  T  WANT  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  said  Walpurga  to  Countess 
1   Irma,  the  next  day.     "  Always  tell  me  frankly  whenever  I  do 
anything  wrong." 

"Quite  willingly;  but,  in  return,  you  must  always  tell  me  when 

"Then  I  've  something  on  my  heart,  this  very  moment." 

"Speak  out." 

"Sometime  when  we  're  alone  together,  I  will." 

"  Pray,  dear  Kramer,  would  you  oblige  me  by  retiring  for  a  few 
moments?  " 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  Wal- 
purga could  not  help  feeling  astonished  when  she  observed  how,  in 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  63 

the  palace,  people  were  pushed  hither  and  thither,  just  like  so  many 
chairs. 

"And  now,  what  is  it?"  enquired  the  Countess. 

"  You  won't  think  ill  of  me,  if  I  say  anything  foolish ;  you  're 
sure  you  won't?" 

"What  is  it?  "  asked  Irma  again. 

"  You  're  so  beautiful,  so  very  beautiful ;  more  so  then  any  one 
1  've  ever  seen  ;  you  're  even  more  beautiful  than  the  queen — no, 
no/  more  beautiful,  but  more  powerful,  and  your  eyes  are  full  of 
kindness — " 

"Well  what  is  it?  speak  out."  » 

"  I  'd  rather  think  I  'm  wrong;  but  its  best  to  feel  sure.  Well, 
I  did  n't  like  the  way  you  and  the  king  looked  at  each  other  yes- 
terday; while  your  hand  was  on  the  cradle-rail,  he  placed  his 
upon  it ;  and  he  's  a  husband  and  a  father.  You  're  an  unmarried 
girl,  and  do  n't  know  what  it  means  when  a  man  looks  at  you  in 
that  way ;  but  I  'm  a  married  woman,  and  it 's  my  duty  to  warn  you. 
You  said  that  we  'd  be  good  friends,  and  now  there  's  a  chance  to 
test  our  friendship." 

Irma  shook  her  head,  and  replied  : 

"  You  mean  well  enough  ;  but  you  're  mistaken.  The  king  has 
a  noble  heart  and,  since  the  birth  of  his  son,  would  like  to  make 
every  one  as  happy  as  he  is  himself.  He  loves  his  wife  dearly  and, 
as  you  have  seen  for  yourself,  she  's  an  angel— 

"  And  if  she  were  n't  an  angel,  she  's  his  wife  and  the  mother  of  his 
child,  and  he  must  be  true  to  her ;  for  with  every  glance  he  gives 
another  woman  he  's  a  confounded  adulterer,  whose  eyes  ought 
to  be  put  out.  Look  here  !  If  I  were  to  think  that  my  husband 
could  do  such  a  thing — but  the  men  are  wicked  enough  to  do  any- 
thing— that  a  man  could  stand  by  the  cradle  of  his  new-bom  babe, 
and  let  the  same  eyes  with  which  he  had  just  been  looking  at  his 
child,  tell  another  woman,  '  I  love  you,' — if  I  \vere  to  think  that,  I  'd 
go  mad.  And  if  a  man  whose  hand  has  pressed  that  of  a  woman 
not  his  wife,  can  offer  his  hand  to  that  wife,  or  touch  his  child's 
face  with  it,  the  world  in  which  such  things  could  happen  ought 
to  be  burned  up  and  the  Lord  ought  to  shower  pitch  and  brim- 
stone down  on  it." 

"Speak  softly,  Walpurga;  don't  scream  so.  Don't  let  such 
words  pass  your  lips.  You  are  not  here  to  look  after  our  morals, 
nor  is  it  for  you  to  pass  judgment.  What  do  you  know  of  the 
world  ?  You  've  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  politeness  means." 

Countess  Irma's  words  were  harsh  and  severe,  and  had  deeply 
humbled  Walpurga.  • 

^"Now  that  you  know  who  you  are  and  what  you  are  a?>out. 
I  've  something  more  to  tell  you :  I  forgive  you  for  insulting  the 
king  and  .myself  with  your  silly  talk.  If  I  did  n't  pity  your  igno- 
lance,  I  wou'ld  never  speak  to  you  again  ;  but,  as  I  feel  kindly  dis- 


64  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

posed  towards  you,  and  know  that  you  meant  no  harm,  I  shall  give 
you  a  bit  of  advice.  No  matter  what  may  happen,  do  n't  concern 
yourself  about  it.  Attend  to  your  child,  and  let  no  one  induce  you 
to  speak  ill  of  others.  Take  my  word  for  it — here,  all  are  deceit- 
ful. They  are  ever  ready  to  speak  ill  of  one  another,  and  unless 
you  are  very  careful  you  '11  not  have  a  friend  in  the  whole  palace. 
'Mind  you  do  n't  forget  what  I  've  said  to  you.  And  now  I  must 
thank  you  once  more  for  having  spoken  to  me  as  you  did.  You 
meant  it  all  well  enough,  and  it  is  proper  that  you  should  be  perfectly 
frank.  I  shall  always  be  your  good  friend.  Although  one  treats 
the  king  respectfully,  he  is,  nevertheless,  as  good  as  your  Hansei, 
and  I  'm  as  good  as  you.  And  now,  let 's  shake  hands  !  Let 
bygones  be  bygones.  Whatever  you  do,  not  a  word  of  this  to 
Kramer;  and  don't  forget  that,  hereabouts,  the  walls  have  ears." 

Without  saying  another  word,  Countess  Irma  began  the  melody 
of  a  Highland  song  upon  her  zither. 

Wulpurga  could  hardly  realize  what  had  happened  to  her.  She 
was  provoked  at  her  own  stupid  and  forward  behavior,  and  was 
firmly  resolved  to  keep  her  own  counsel  in  the  future. 

While  Irma  was  playing,  the  king  again  passed  through  the 
portiere  and  stopped  to  listen.  Irma  did  not  look  up  ;  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  her  zither.  When  she  had  finished,  the  king  ap- 
plauded faintly.  She  arose  and  bowed,  but  did  not  accompany 
the  king  when  he  went  into  the  adjoining  chamber  to  look  at  the 
prince. 

"Your  zither  is  in  perfect  tune,  dear  Countess,  but  you  seem  to 
be  somewhat  out  of  tune,"  said  the  king,  as  he  came  back  into  the 
room. 

"I  am  in  tune,  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Countess  Irma.  "I  've 
just  been  playing  an  air  to  Walpurga,  and  it  has  deeply  affected 
me." 

The  king  left  very  soon  afterward,  and  without  offering  his  hand 
to  the  Countess. 

Walpurga's  saddest  thought  was  that  she  dared  not  even  trust 
Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

"O,  you  poor  child  ! "  said  she  to  the  prince,  one  day,  when  no 
one  was  by.  "  O  you  poor,  dear  child  !  you  're  expected  to  grow 
up  among  people  who  do  n't  trust  each  other.  If  I  could  only  take 
you  with  me,  what  a  fine  boy  you  'd  become.  You  're  still  inno- 
cent— children,  until  they  begin  to  speak,  are  the  only  innocent 
creatures  in  this  world.  But  what  matters  it  ?  I  did  n't  make  the 
\v-.irld,  and  need  n't  change  it.  The  Countess  is  right.  I  '11  nurse 
you  well,  care  for  you  tenderly,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God." 

CHAPTER     XV. 

4  *  \fOUR  wish  is  fulfilled  at  last,"  said  Countess  Irma  to  Doctoi 
I    Gunther,  just  as  they  were  rising  from  the  dinner-table. 


ON  THE 


"What  wish?" 

"  I  now  have  a  female  friend,  a 
the  song,  'you  '11  ne'er  find  a  better'." 

"Youi  treatment  of  the  peasant  woman  is  quite  amiable  and 
does  you  great  credit,  but  she  is  not  a  friend.  Your  friend  should 
be  one  who  is  your  equal.  Your  relation  towards  this  peasant 
woman  will  always  be  that  of  a  patron.  She  never  dare  find  fault 
with  you,  and  if  she  were  to  make  the  attempt,  you  could  readily 
silence  her.  Mere  common  sense  is  defenseless  against  the  armory 
of  culture." 

Without  noticing  how  Irma  started  at  these  words,  the  Doctor 
calmly  continued : 

"There's  just  as  much  difference,  mentally,  between  yourself 
and  such  a  type  6f  popular  simplicity  as  there  is  between  a  grown 
person  and  a  child.  I  fear  you  've  neglected  to  secure  yourself  a 
friend  who  is  your  equal  in  birth." 

"  My  equal  in  birth  ?     So  you,  too,  are,  an  aristocrat  ?  " 

The  Doctor  explained  that  equality  of  rights  could  be  conceded 
without  doing  away  with  social  distinctions. 

"  Whenever  I  leave  you,*'  said  Irma,  her  face  radiant  with  enthu* 
siasm — "whenever  I  've  been  under  the  influence  of  your  thoughts, 
all  that  I  do  or  attempt  seems  petty  and  trifling.  At  such  moments, 
I  feel  just  as  I  do  after  listening  to  glorious  music,  and  long  to 
accomplish  something  out  of  the  usual  way.  I  wish  I  were  gifted 
with  artistic  talent." 

"Content  yourself  with  being  one  of  nature's  loveliest  works. 
,  That 's  the  best  thing  to  do." 

The  Doctor  was  called  away. 

Irma  remained  seated  for  some  time,  and  at  last  repaired  to  her 
room,  where  she  amused  herself  with  her  parrot.  Then,  after 
looking  at  her  flowers  for  awhile,  she  bega*n  to  copy  them  in  colors 
on  a  slab  of  marble.  She  evidently  intended  it  to  be  a  rare  work. 
But  for  whom  ?  She  knew  not.  A  tear  fell  on  a  rose,  the  color  in 
which  was  still  wet.  She  looked  up  and  left  her  work.  Then  she 
dried  the  tear,  and  found  herself  obliged  to  paint  the  rose  anew. 

On  the  day  before  the  christening,  Walpurga  dictated  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  Countess  Irma  : 

"To-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  and  I  '11  try  to  be  with  you,  too. 
In  thought,  I  'm  always  there.  It  seems  as  if  it  were  seven  years 
since  I  left  home.  The  day  's  ever  so  long  here,  and  there  are 
more  than  three  times  as  many  people  in  the  palace  as  could  get 
into  our  church.  There  are  lots  of^  married  servants  here  who 
have  servants  of  their  own ;  there  are  none  but  tall,  fine-looking 
men  in  service  here.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  tells  me  that  their 
lordships  do  n't  care  to  have  any  but  handsome  people  about  them  ; 
and  some  of  them  are  as  prim  and  proper  as  a  parson.  They  call 
Ihem  lackevs  and  whenever  the  king  goes  near  one  of  them,  they 


66  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

bow  very  low  and  double  up  with  a  snap,  just  like  a  pocket-knife. 
Oh,  what  lots  of  good  things  I  have.  If  I  could  only  send  you 
some  of  them.  I  'm  ever  so  glad  that  we  shall  go  to  the  country 
palace  in  four  weeks  and  stay  there  till  autumn.  But  how  's  my 
child,  and  how  goes  it  with  Hansei,  and  with  mother,  and  you  too, 
Stasi  ?  In  my  sleep  at  night,  I  'm  always  with  you.  I  can't  sleep 
much,  for  my  prince  is  a  real  night-watchman,  and  the  king's 
Doctor  said  I  must  n't  let  him  cry  as  much  as  Burgei  does  at 
home.  But  he  has  good  lungs,  and  to-morrow  is  the  christening. 
The  queen's  brother  and  his  wife  are  to  be  godfather  and  god- 
mother, and  there  '11  be  lots  of  princes  and  princesses  besides. 
And  1  've  got  beautiful  new  dresses,  and  two  green  hats  with  gold 
lace,  and  two  silver  chains  for  my  stomacher,  and  I  can  take  them 
all  home  with  me  when  I  go,  but  that  won't  be  for  a  long  while. 
If  all  the  weeks  are  as  long  as  last  week,  I  '11  be  seven  hundred 
years  old  when  I  get  home.  I  'm  quite  lively  again.  But,  at  first, 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  always  hear  the  lowing  of  the  cow  in  the 
stable. 

"  She  who  writes  this  is  the  Countess  Wildenort,  from  over  be- 
yond the  Chamois  Hill ;  she  's  a  very  good  friend  of  mine.  She 
knew  our  dear  father,  too,  and  you,  mother,  know  of  her  family. 

"And  I've  something  to  tell  you,  Hansei.  Don't  have  too 
much  to  do  with  the  innkeeper ;  he  's  a  rogue,  and  he  '11  talk  your 
money  out  of  your  pocket.  There  are  good  folks  and  bad,  every- 
where ;  at  home  with  us  and  here,  too  ;  and  the  king's  doctor  says 
you  must  n't  give  the  cow  any  green  fodder,  nothing  but  hay,  or 
else  the  milk  won't  agree  with  the  child. 

"I  'm  learning  to  write.  Indeed  I  'm  learning  a  great  many 
things  here. 

"  And  tell  me  what  the  people  say  about  my  leaving  home  so 
suddenly,  and  about  my  having  left  at  all. 

"  But  I  do  n't  care  what  they  say.  I  know  I  've  done  my  duty 
by  my  child,  my  husband,  and  my  mother. 

"  And,  dear  mother,  take  a  servant-girl  into  the  house ;  we  can 
afford  it  now. 

"  And,  Hansei,  do  n't  let  the  innkeeper  wheedle  you  out  of  our 
money.  Put  it  out  safely  at  mortgage,  till  we  have  enough  to  buy 
a  few  acres  of  land. 

"  And  do  n't  forget,  Wednesday  's  the  day  on  which  father  died  ; 
have  a  mass  said  for  him. 

"  We  've  got  a  church  in  the  house  here,  and  I  hear  the  organ 
every  morning,  while  I  stand  in  the  passage,  To-morrow  will  be 
a  great  day,  and  I  remain  your  ever  faithful 

"WALPURGA  ANDERMATTEN. 

"  I  send  you  a  little  cap  for  my  child  ;  let  her  wear  it  every  Sun- 
day. A  thousand  greetings  to  all  of  you,  from  your 

"  WALPURGA." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  67 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

' '  OH,  how  lovely  !     How  beautiful ! —  And  is  it  all  mine  ? — And 

\J  is  it  you,  Walpurga,  of  the  cottage  by  the  lake? — How 
proud  she  '11  be  !  " 

Such  were  Walpurga's  extravagant  expressions  of  delight,  while 
she  stood  looking  at  herself  in  the  full-length  mirror.  Made- 
moiselle Kramer  was  indeed  obliged  to  hold  her  back,  lest  she 
should  rush  through  the  glass  in  her  eager  desire  to  embrace  the 
figure  she  saw  reflected  in  it. 

The  court  tailor  had  sent  home  the  new  clothes.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  decide  which  was  the  most  beautiful — the  stomacher,  the 
skirt,  the  collar,  the  shirt  with  the  short,  wide  sleeves — but  no ! 
the  narrow  rimmed  hat,  trimmed  with  flowers  and  gold  lace  and 
with  gold  tassels,  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all.  It  fitted  perfectly, 
and  was  as  light  as  a  feather.  "  There,  I  '11  just  move  it  a  little  to 
the  left.  Gracious  me  ! — Well,  you  are  beautiful !  The  folks  are 
right !  "  She  placed  her  arms  akimbo  and  danced  about  the  room, 
like  one  possessed.  And  then,  placing  herself  before  the  mirror, 
she  stared  into  it,  silently,  as  if  lost  in  contemplation  of  her  own 
image. 

Ah,  that  mirror!  Walpurga  had  never  before  seen  her  full 
figure,  from  head  to  foot.  What  could  she  see  in  the  twopenny 
looking-glass  at  home  ?  Nothing  but  the  face  and  a  little  of  the 
neck ! 

She  lifted  her  hand  to  her  throat.  It  was  encircled  by  a  neck- 
lace composed  of  seven  rows  of  garnets  and  fastened  in  front  with 
an  agraffe.  And  how  clever  Mademoiselle  Kramer  was  !  How 
many  things  she  could  do  !  She^iad  placed  a  large  mirror  behind 
Walpurga  who  could  now  see  how  she  looked  in  the  back,  and  on 
all  sides.  O  how  clever  these  people  are  !  What  do  they  know 
out  our  way  ?  Nothing  of  the  world,  and  less  about  themselves  ! 

"  And  this  is  how  Walpurga  looks  to  those  who  walk  behind 
her?  And  so,"  turning  herself  on  one  side,  "and  so,"  turning 
again  on  the  other.  "  I  must  say,  I  like  your  looks ;  you  're  not 
out  of  the  way,  at  all !  So  that  's  Hansei's  wife  ?  He  ought  to 
feel  satisfied  with  her ;  but  then,  he  's  good  and  true  and  has  well 
deserved  her." 

Giddy  with  excitement,  Walpurga  thus  talked  to  herself;  it  was 
the  first  time  that  she  had  ever  seen  a  full  length  reflection  of  her- 
self. 

The  first  stranger  who  saw  her  thus  was  Baum. 

He  always  wore  shoes  without  heels  and,  putting  down  his 
whole  foot  at  once,  managed  to  step  so  softly  that  you  could  never 
know  when  he  was  coming.  He  always  approached  with  a  modest 
air,  as  if  fearful  of  disturbing  you,  but  always  kept  his  own 
counsel  and  was  an  available  tool,  no  matter  what  the  nature  of  the 
service  might  be. 


68  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Oh  !  how  pretty ! "  he  exclaimed,  staring  at  her  as  if  quite 
lost  with  admiration. 

"It  's  nothing  to  you,  sirrah,  at  any  rate,"  said  Walpurga; 
"you  're  a  married  man  and  I  'm  a  married  woman." 

Burning  an  air  of  command,  and  acting  as  if  these  were  the 
first  words  uttered  since  he  entered  the  apartment,  Baum  went 
on  to  say : 

"It  's-the  lord  steward's  pleasure  that  the  nurse  shall  come  to 
the  court  chapel  immediately,  if  his  royal  highness  the  crown 
prince,  is  asleep.  The  rehearsal  is  about  to  begin." 

"  I  Ye  tried  my  clothes  on,"  answered  Walpurga. 

Baum  told  her  that  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  trying  on  clothes, 
but  that,  excepting  the  highest  personages,  all  who  were  to  take 
part  in  the  grand  ceremonies  of  the  morrow,  were  now  to  rehearse 
the  order  of  the  procession,  so  that  there  might  be  no  confusion. 

Walpurga  went  with  Baum. 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  were  assembled  in  the 
throne-room.  Most  of  them  were  eagerly  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion, and  the  confused  sound  of  many  voices  was  strangely  echoed 
back 'from  the  high,  vaulted  ceiling.  When  Walpurga  entered,  she 
could  hear  them  whispering  on  all  sides.  Some  spoke  French,  but 
others  used  plain  German,  to  say  that  the  nurse  was  a  fine  speci- 
men of  a  Highland  peasant  woman.  Walpurga  had  a  smile  for 
every  one,  and  was  quite  unembarassed. 

The  lord  steward,  bearing  a  gold-headed  stick  in  his  hand,  now 
stationed  himself  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  throne,  which  had  been 
covered  with  an  ermine  mantle.  He  struck  the  floor  thrice  with 
the  stick  and  then  held  it  up.  Every  one  was  provided  with  a 
printed  programme,  and  Walpurga  also  received  one.  After  read- 
ing it  to  the  company,  the  lord  steward  enjoined  its  strict  oj^serv- 
ance  on  all.  The  procession  now  moved  towards  the  chapel,  pass- 
ing through  the  picture  gallery  and  the  portrait  gallery,  by  the 
way.  The  open  space  before  it  presented  the  appearance  of  an  en- 
chanted garden.  It  was  filled  with  exotic  trees,  and  the  air  was 
laden  with  the  odor  of  flowers.  The  chapel  was  also  decorated 
with  flowers  and  shrubbery ;  and  the  paintings  on  the  ceiling  repre- 
sented angels  flying  about  in  the  air. 

Countess  Brinkenstein,  whose  appearance  was  even  more  austere 
than  on  the  first  evening,  was  engrossed  with  her  official  duties ; 
this  was  no  time  for  her  to  be  ill. 

She  cautioned  W7alpurga,  who  walked  beside  her,  to  be  very 
careful  how  she  carried  the  prince,  and  earnestly  enjoined  her  not 
to  withdraw  her  arms  until  she  felt  quite  certa'in  that  the  prince 
was  safely  in  his  godfather's  arms. 

"Of  course  I  won't;  I  'm  not  that  stupid,"  said  Walpurga. 

"I  require  no  answer  from  you."  Countess  Brinkenstein  was 
vexed  at  \Valpurga.  She  was  indeed  displeased  with  the  queen, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  69 

who,  she  thought,  was  spoiling  the  poor  servant,  but  found  it  more 
convenient  to  vent  her  resentment  upon  Walpurga  than  upon  so 
exalted  a  personage  as  her  majesty. 

The  various  groups  were  chatting  and  laughing  in  as  careless  a 
tone  as  if  they  were  in  a  ball-room  instead  of  a  church. 

The  lord  steward,  who  had  stationed  himself  at  the  altar,  en- 
quired whether  all  were  in  readiness. 

"Yes,"  was  answered  from  various  quarters,  amid  much  laugh- 
ter. 

Walpurga  looked  up  at  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  which  she  had 
seen  by  the  light  of  the  everlasting  lamp  on  the  evening  of  her  ar- 
rival,— it  was  the  first  time  she  saw  it  by  daylight — and  said  : 
"Thou,  too,  must  look  on  while  they  rehearse."  She  now  fully 
understood  Mademoiselle  Kramer's  remark  that,  for  royalty,  every- 
thing must  be  arranged  in  advance.  But  was  it  right  to  do  so 
with  sacred  matters?  It  must  be,  thought  she,  or  they  would  n't 
do  it.  The  court  chaplain  was  there,  too,  but  not  in  his  ecclesias- 
tical robes.  She  saw  him  taking  a  pinch  from  the  golden  snuffbox 
of  the  lord  steward,  with  whom  he  was  talking  just  as  if  they  were 
in  the  street. 

And  so  this  is  the  rehearsal,  thought  Walpurga  to  herself,  when 
Countess  Brinkenstein  approached  and  said  that,  as  she  now  knew 
her  place  for  the  morrow,  she  might  go.  She  also  ordered  Wal- 
purga to  wear  white  cotton  gloves,  and  said  that  she  would  send 
her  several  pairs. 

Walpurga  went  out  by  way  of  the  throne-room  and  the  picture 
gallery.  Without  looking  about  her,  she  walked  on  through  nu- 
merous apartments,  and  suddenly  found  herself  standing  before  a 
large,  dark  room.  The  door  was  open,  but  she  could  not  see 
wrhere  it  led  to.  She  turned  in  alarm,  for  she  had  lost  her  way. 
All  was  silent  as  death.  She  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a 
street  that  she  had  never  seen  before.  She  knew  not  where  she 
was,  and  hurried  on ;  from  a  distance,  she  could  see  strange  men 
and  beasts  and  places  on  the  walls,  and  suddenly  she  uttered  a 
shriek  of  terror,  for  the  devil  himself,  black  as  pitch,  came  towards 
her,  gnashing  his  teeth. 

"  O  Lord  !  Forgive  me  !  I  '11  never  be  proud  and  vain  again  ! 
I  '11  be  good  and  honest,"  she  cried  aloud,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  What  are  you  making  such  a  noise  about  ?  who  are  you  ?  "  ex- 
claimed the  devil. 

"  I  'm  Walpurga,  from  the  lake ;  and  I  've  a  child  and  husband 
and  mother,  at  home.  I  was  brought  here  to  be  the  crown  prince's 
nurse,  but,  indeed,  I  did  n't  want  to  come." 

"  Indeed  !  and  so  you  're  the  nurse.     I  rather  like  your  looks." 

"  But  I  do  n't  want  you,  or  any  one  else,  to  like  my  looks.  I  Ve 
a  husband  of  my  own  and  want  nothing  to  do  with  other  men/' 

The  black  fellow  laughed  heartily. 


70  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Then  what  were  you  doing  in  my  master's  apartments  ?  " 

"  Who  's  your  master  ?  I've  nothing  to  do  with  him.  I  and 
all  good  spirits  praise  God  the  Lord  !  Speak  !  What  is  it  you 
want  of  me  ?  " 

"O,  you  stupid  !  My  master  is  the  queen's  brother.  I  'm  his 
valet  de  chambre.  We  arrived  here  last  evening." 

Walpurga  could  not  understand  what  it  all  meant.  Luckily  for 
her,  at  that  moment,  the  duke  and  the  king  came  out  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

Addressing  the  Moor  in  English,  the  duke  inquired  what  had 
happened  ;  answering  in  the  same  tongue,  the  Moor  said  that  the 
peasant  woman  had  taken  him  for  the  devil  incarnate  ;  upon 
hearing  which,  the  duke  and  the  king  laughed  heartily. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  enquired  the  king. 

"  I  lost  my  way,  after  leaving  the  chapel,"  replied  Walpurga. 
"  My  child  will  cry.  Do  please  show  me  the  way  back  to  him." 

The  king  instructed  one  of  the  lackeys  to  conduct  her  to  her 
apartments.  While  going  away  she  overheard  the  uncle,  who  was 
to  be  chief  sponsor,  saying :  "  What  a  fine  milch-cow  you  've 
brought  from  the  Highlands  !  " 

When  she  had  returned  to  her  room,  and  again  beheld  herself 
in  the  large  mirror,  she  said  : 

"  You  're  nothing  but  a  cow  that  can  chatter,  and  is  dressed  up 
in  clothes  !  Well,  it  served  you  right." 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  night  was  a  bad  one.  The  crown  prince  suffered  because 
of  the  fright  which  the  Moor  had  given  his  foster-mother. 
Doctor  Gunther  sat  up  all  night,  in  the  adjoining  room,  so  as  to  be 
within  ready  call,  and  was  constant  in  his  enquiries  as  to  Walpurga 
and  the  child.  He  instructed  Mademoiselle  Kramer  never  again  to 
allow  the  nurse  to  leave  the  room  without  his  permission. 

To  Walpurga,  this  imprisonment  was  welcome,  as  she  wished 
to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  whole  world  ;  for  the  child 
filled  her  soul  and,  while  she  lay  on  the  sofa,  she  vowed  to  God 
that  nothing  else  should  enter  her  mind.  She  looked  at  the  new 
clothes  that  were  spread  out  on  the  large  table  and  shook  her 
head ;  she  no  longer  cared  for  the  trumpery.  Indeed,  she  almost 
hated  it,  for  had -it  not  led  her  into  evil?  and  had  not  the  punish- 
ment quickly  followed  ? 

Walpurga's  sleep  was  broken  and  fitful,  and  whenever  she  closed 
her  eyes,  she  beheld  herself  pursued  by  the  Moor.  It  was  not 
until  near  daybreak  that  she  and  the  child  slept  soundly.  The 
great  ceremony  could  therefore  take  place  at  the  appointed  time. 

Baum  brought  the  beautiful  pillows,  and  the  brocaded  coverlet 
embroidered  with  two  wild  animals.  While  passing  Walpurga,  he 
softly  whispered : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  71 

"Keep  a  brave  heart,  so  that  you  don't  get  sick  again  ;  for  if 
you  do,  they  will  discharge  you  at  once.  I  mean  well  by  you,  and 
that 's  why  I  say  so/' 

He  said  this  without  moving  a  feature,  for  Mademoiselle  Kramer 
was  to  know  nothing  of  it. 

Walpurga  looked  after  him  in  amazement ;  and  Baum,  indeed, 
presented  quite  an  odd  appearance,  in  his  grey  linen  undress 
uniform. 

"And  so  they'll  send  you  away  when  you  get  sick,"  thought 
she  to  herself.  "  I  'm  a  cow.  They  're  right.  There  's  no  longer 
any  room  in  the  stable  for  a  cow  that 's  barren." 

"  I  and  thou  and  the  miller's  cow — "  said  she,  to  the  prince,  as 
she  again  took  him  to  her  bosom,  while  she  laughed  and  sang  : 

Cock  a  doodle  doo ! 
The  clock  strikes  two ; 
The  clock  strikes  four, 
While  all  sleep  and  snore. 

Be  it  palace  or  cot, 

It  matters  not, 

Though  they  cook  sour  beets, 

Or  eat  almonds  and  sweets — 

As  long  as  they  care 

For  the  little  ones  there. 

Walpurga  would  have  said  and  sung  much  more  that  day,  were 
it  not  for  the  constant  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  prince's  apart- 
ments. Countess  Brinkenstein  came  in  person,  and  said  to 
Walpurga : 

"  Have  you  not  all  sorts  of  secret  charms  which  you  place  under 
the  pillow  for  the  child's  sake  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  twig  of  mistletoe  will  do,  or  a  nail  dropped  from  a 
horse-shoe ;  I  'd  get  them  quick  enough  if  I  were  at  home  ;  but 
I  've  nothing  of  the  sort  here." 

Walpurga  felt  quite  proud  while  telling  what  she  knew  of  these 
secret  charms;  but  grew  alarmed  when  she  looked  at  Countess 
Brinkenstein  and  saw  that  her  face  wore  an  expression  of  dis- 
pleasure. 

"Mademoiselle  Kramer,"  said  she,  "you  will  be  held  responsi- 
ble if  this  peasant  woman  attempts  to  practice  any  of  her  super- 
stitious nonsense  with  the  child." 

Not  a  word  of  this  was  addressed  to  Walpurga,  who  had 
persuaded  herself  into  believing  that  she  was  the  first  person  in 
the  palace,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  experienced  the  mortifica- 
tion of  being  ignored,  just  as  if  she  were  nothing  more  than  empty 
air. 

"  I  won't  lose  my  temper,  in  spite  of  you.  And  I  won't  do  you 
the  favor  to  get  sick,  so  that  you  may  send  me  off,"  muttered  Wal- 
purga, laughing  to  herself,  while  the  Countess  withdrew. 


72  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

And  now  followed  a  beautiful  and  happy  hour.  Two  maidens 
came,  who  dressed  the  prince.  Walpurga  also  allowed  them  to 
dress  her,  and  greatly  enjoyed  being  thus  waited  upon. 

All  the  bells,  throughout  the  city,  v/cre  ringing  ;  the  chimes  of 
the  palace  tower  joined  in  the  merry  din,  and  almost  caused  the 
vast  building  to  tremble.  And  now  Baum  came.  He  looked  mag- 
nificent. The  richly-embroidered  uniform  with  the  silver  lace,  the 
scarlet  vest  embroidered  with  gold,  the  short,  gray-plush  breeches, 
the  white  stockings,  the  buckled  shoes — all  seemed  as  if  they  had 
come  from  some  enchanted  closet,  and  Baum  well  knew  that  he 
was  cutting  a  grand  figure.  He  smiled  when  Walpurga  stared  at 
him,  and  knew  what  that  look  meant.  He  could  afford  to  wait. 

"One  should  not  attempt  to  reap  too  soon,"  had  been  a  favorite 
saying  of  Baroness  Steigeneck's  valet,  and  he  knew  what  he  was 
about. 

Baum  announced  a  chamberlain  and  two  pages,  who  entered 
soon  afterwards. 

Heavy  steps  and  words  of  command  were  heard  from  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  The  doors  were  opened  by  a  servant  and  a  number  of 
cuirassiers  entered  the  room.  They  were  a  detachment  from  the 
regiment  to  which  the  prince  would  belong,  as  soon  as  he  had 
received  his  name. 

The  procession  that  accompanied  the  prince  moved  at  the 
appointed  hour.  The  chamberlain  walked  in  advance,  and  then 
came  Mademoiselle  Kramer  and  Walpurga,  the  pages  bringing  up 
the  rear.  It  was  fortunate  for  Walpurga  that  Baum  was  at  her 
side,  for  she  felt  so  timid  and  bashful,  that  she  looked  about  her  as 
if  imploring  aid.  Baum  understood  it  all  and  whispered  to  her : 
"  Keep  up  your  courage,  Walpurga  !  "  She  merely  nodded  her 
thanks,  for  she  could  not  utter  a  word.  Bearing  the  child  on  her 
arms,  she  passed  through  the  crowd  of  cuirassiers  who,  with 
drawn  swords  and  glittering  coats  of  mail,  stood  there  like  so 
many  statues.  Suddenly,  she  thought  of  where  she  had  been  last 
Sunday  at  the  same  hour.  If  Hansei  could  only  see  this,  too. 
And  Franz,  tailor  Schneck's  son,  is  in  the  cuirassiers — perhaps  he, 
too,  is  among  those  lifeless  ones ;  but  they  must  be  alive,  for  their 
eyes  sparkle.  She  looked  up,  but  did  npt  recognize  the  tailor's  son, 
although  he  was  in  the  line. 

The  prince's  train,  with  its  escort,  passed  on  to  the  so-called 
grand  centre  gallery,  where  the  procession  was  forming. 

Walpurga  had  been  told  to  seat  herself  with  the  prince  on  the 
lowest  step  of  the  throne,  and  when  she  looked  about  oei  sns 
beheld  a  sea  of  splendor  and  beauty.  There  were  richly  em- 
broidered costumes,  lovely  women,  their  heads  adorned  with 
flowers,  and  jewels  that  sparkled  like  dew-drops  on  the  meadow 
at  early  morn. 

"Good  morning,  Walpurga  !     Pray  don't  rise,"  said  a  pleasant 


ON-  THE  HEIGHTS.  73 

voice,  addressing  her.  It  Vas  Countess  Irma.  But  she  had 
scarcely  commenced  speaking  to  her,  when  the  lord  steward  thrice 
struck  the  floor  with  his  goM-headed  stick,  the  diamonds  on  which 
sparkled  brightly. 

A  train  of  halberdiers,  wearing  gay  plumes  on  their  helmets, 
marched  in  from  a  side  apartment.  And  then  the  king  came.  He 
carried  his  helmet  in  his  left  hand  and  at  his  side.  His  face  was 
ladiant  with  happiness. 

At  his  side  walked  the  duchess,  a  diamond  crown  on  her  head, 
and  with  two  pages  bearing  her  long  silk  train.  She  was  followed 
by  a  numerous  and  brilliant  suite. 

Irma  had  hastened  to  her  appropriate  place.  The  bells  were 
slowly  tolling,  and  the  procession  moved.  At  the  entrance  of  the 
palace  chapel,  the  duchess  took  the  child  from  the  nurse  and  car- 
ried it  up  to  the  altar,  where  priests,  clad  in  splendid  robes,  were 
awaiting  it,  and  where  countless  lights  were  burning. 

Walpurga  followed,  feeling  as  if  bereft — not  only  as  if  the 
clothes  had  been  torn  from  her  body,  but  as  if  the  body  had  been 
rent  from  her  soul.  The  child  cried  aloud,  as  if  aware  of  what 
was  taking  place,  but  its  voice  was  drowned  by  the  tones  of  the 
organ  and  choir.  The  whole  church  was  filled  with  a  mighty  vol- 
ume of  sound,  which  descended  from  the  gallery  and  was  echoed 
back  from  the  floor  beneath,  like  sullen,  muttering  thunder.  In- 
voluntarily, Walpurga  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  altar — there  was  no 
need  to  order  her  to  do  so. 

Choir,  organ  and  orchestra  burst  forth  with  a  mighty  volume  of 
sound,  and  Walpurga,  overwhelmed  with  awe  and  surprise, 
imagined  that  the  end  of  the  world  had  come  and  that  the  painted 
angels  on  the  ceiling, — aye,  the  very  pillars,  too — were  swelling  the 
heavenly  harmonies. 

Suddenly  all  was  silent  again. 

'The  child  received  its  names.  One  would  not  suffice ;  there 
were  eight ;  a  whole  section  of  the  calendar  had  been  emptied  for 
its  benefit. 

But  from  that  moment  until  she  reached  her  room,  Walpurga 
knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened. 

When  she  found  herself  alone  with  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  she 
asked  : 

"Well,  and  what  am  I  to  call  my  prince?" 

"  None  of  us  know.  He  has  three  names  until  he  succeeds  to 
the  throne,  when  he  himself  selects  one,  under  which  he  reigns, 
and  which  is  stamped  on  the  coins." 

"I've  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Walpurga,  "and  mind 
you  do  n't  forget  it.  You  must  send  me  the  first  ducat  you  have 
stamped  with  your  name  and  your  picture  !  See  !  he  gives  me  his 
hand  on  it  !  "  cried  she,  exultingly,  when  the  child  stretched  out 
its  little  hand  as  if  to  grasp  hers.  "  O  you  dear  Sunday  child  J 
4 


74  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Let  the  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber  say  it 's  superstition — it 's 
true,  for  all.  I  'm  a  cow  and  you  're  a  Sunday  child,  and  Sunday 
children  understand  the  language  of  the  beasts.  But  that 's  only 
once  a  year — at  midnight  on  Christmas  eve.  But  as  you  're  a 
prince,  I  'm  sure  you  can  do  more  than  the  rest." 

Walpurga  was  called  into  the  queen's  apartment,  the  dazzling 
beauty  of  which  suggested  a  glittering  cavern  in  fairy-land.  All 
was  quiet ;  here  nothing  was  heard  of  the  noisy,  bustling  crowd 
overhead.  The  queen  said  : 

"  On  that  table  you  will  find  a  roll  containing  a  hundred  gold 
pieces.  It  is  your  christening  present  from  my  brother  and  the 
other  sponsors.  Does  it  make  you  happy  ?  " 

"O  queen!  If  the  lips  on  these  gold  pieces  could  speak,  the 
hundred  together  could  n't  tell  you  how  happy  I  am.  It  's  too 
much  !  Why,  you  could  buy  half  our  village  with  it !  With  that 
much  you  could  buy — " 

"Don't  excite  yourself!  Keep  calm!  Come  here,  and  I'll 
give  you  something  else,  for  myself.  May  this  little  ring  always 
remind  you  of  me,  and  may  your  hand  thus  be  as  if  it  were  mine, 
doing  good  to  the  child." 

"  O  my  queen  !  How  happy  it  must  make  you  to  be  able  to 
speak  right  out  when  your  heart  is  full  of  kind  thoughts,  and  to 
have  it  in  your  power  to  do  so  many  great  and  good  actions ;  be- 
sides, God  must  love  you  very  much,  to  permit  so  much  good  to 
be  done  by  your  hand  !  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart !  And  to 
Him  who  has  given  it  all  to  you,  a  thousand  thanks  !  " 

"  Walpurga,  your  words  do  me  more  good  than  all  that  the  arch- 
bishop and  the  rest  of  them  said.  I  shall  not  forget  them  ! " 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  I  've  said — but  it  's  all  your  fault !  When 
I  'm  with  you,  I — I  hardly  know  how  to  say  it — but  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  standing  before  the  holy  of  holies  in  the  church.  O,  what  a 
heavenly  creature  you  are  !  You  're  all  heart !  I  '11  tell  the  child 
of  it,  and  though  it  does  n't  understand  what  I  say,  it  '11  feel  it  all. 
From  me  it  shall  get  only  good  thoughts  of  you  !  I  beg  your 
pardon  now,  if  I  should  ever  offend  you,  even  in  thought,  or  do  any- 
thing out  of  the  way — "  She  could  say  no  more. 

The  queen  motioned  Walpurga  to  be  quiet  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  her ;  neither  spoke  another  word.  Angels  were  indeed  passing 
through  the  silent  room. 

Walpurga  went  away.  It  was  self-confidence,  not  boldness, 
that  made  her  look  straight  into  the  faces  of  the  courtiers  whom 
she  passed  by  the  way.  As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  they  did  not 
exist. 

When  she  was  with  the  child  again,  she  said : 

"  Yes,  drink  in  my  whole  soul !  It 's  all  yours  !  If  you  do  n't 
become  a  man  in  whom  God  and  the  world  can  take  delight,  you 
do  n't  deserve  a  mother  like  yours  !  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  75 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  was  amazed  at  Walpurga's  words.  But 
the  latter  did  not  care  to  tell  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 
There  was  perfect  silence,  and  yet  she  sat  there,  motionless,  as  if 
she  could  still  hear  the  organ  and  the  singing  of  the  angels. 

"  It  is  n't  this  that  makes  me  so  happy,"  said  she,  looking  at  the 
money  once  more.  "  It  must  be  just  this  way  when  one  gets  to 
heaven  and  the  Lord  says :  '  I  'm  glad  you  've  come  ! '  O,  if  I 
could  only  fly  there  now  !  I  do  n't  know  what  to  do  with  myself." 

She  loosened  all  her  clothes ;  the  world  seemed  too  close  and 
confined  to  contain  her. 

"  God  be  praised  !  the  day  's  over,"  said  she,  when  she  lay  down 
to  rest  that  evening.  "It  was  a  hard  day,  but  a  beautiful  one; 
more  beautiful  than  I  '11  ever  see  again." 

CHAPTER     XVIII. 

(IRMA  TO   HER   FRIEND   EMMA.) 

* *  \7OU  ask  me  how  I  like  the  great  world.  The  great  world, 
I  dear  Emma,  is  but  a  little  world,  after  all.  But  I  can 
readily  understand  why  they  term  it  'great.'  It. has  a  firmament 
of  its  own.  Two  suns  rise  daily ;  I  mean  their  majesties,  of  course. 
A  gracious  glance,  or  a  kind  word,  from  either — and  the  day  is 
clear  and  bright.  Should  they  ignore  you,  the  weather  is  dull  and 
dreary. 

"The  queen  is  all  feeling,  and  lives  in  a  transcendental  world  of 
her  own,  into  which  she  would  fain  draw  everyone.  She  suggests 
a  '  Jean  Paul '  born  after  his  time,  and  is  of  a  tender,  clinging  dis- 
position, constantly  vacillating  between  the  dawn  and  twilight  of 
emotion,  and  always  avoiding  the  white  light  of  day.  She  is  ex- 
ceedingly gracious  towards  me,  but  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  we 
do  not  harmonize. 

"  I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  I  have  of  late  frequently  thought  of 
a  saying  of  my  father's :  '  Whenever  you  find  yourself  on  friendly 
or  affectionate  terms  with  any  one,  imagine  how  he  would  seem  if 
he  had  become  your  enemy  ! ' 

"  The  thought  follows  me  like  a  phantom,  I  know  not  why.  It 
must  be  my  evil  spirit. 

"  All  here  regard  me  as  wonderfully  naive,  simply  because  I  have 
the  courage  to  think  for  myself.  I  have  not  inherited  the  spec- 
tacles and  tight-lacing  of  tradition.  The  world  seem  to  follow  the 
fashion,  even  in  clothing  the  inside  of  their  heads. 

"  I  admire  the  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber  most  of  all.  She  is 
the  law  incarnate,  carefully  covered  with  poudre  de  riz.  The  la- 
dies here  ridicule  her,  but  I  have  only  pity  for  those  who  are 
obliged  to  resort  to  the  use  of  cosmetics.  Ah,  you  can  have  no 
idea,  my  dear  Emma,  how  stupid  and  bored  some  persons  are 


76  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

when  unable  to  indulge  in  scandal.     There  are  but  few  who 
how  to  enjoy  themselves  innocently.     But  I  am  forgetting  that  I 
intended  to  tell  you  about  Countess  Brinkenstein. 

"  She  read  me  a  lecture  on  etiquette.  What  a  pity  that  I  can- 
not give  it  to  you,  word  for  word.  She  said  many  pretty  things ; 
for  instance, — that  we  have  as  little  right  to  doubt  in  matters  of 
etiquette  as  in  religion,  that,  in  either  case,  reasoning  always 
led  to  heresy  and  schism,  and  that  one  ought  to  feel  happy  to  have 
the  law  ready  made,  instead  of  being  obliged  to  frame  it. 

"  Countess  Brinkenstein,  like  Socrates  the  peripatetic,  teaches  by 
example.  In  the  park  of  the  summer  palace  there  is  a  jutting 
rock,  from  the  top  of  which  a  fine  view  can  be  obtained.  It  is 
protected  on  all  sides  by  an  iron  rail.  '  Do  you  observe,  my  dear 
Countess,'  said  this  high  priest  of  etiquette  to  me — for  she  seems 
to  have  conceived  quite  an  affection  for  your  humble  servant — 'it 
is  because  we  know  there  is  a  railing,  that  we  feel  perfectly  safe 
here.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  we  should  become  too  dizzy  to  re- 
main. It  is  just  the  same  with  the  laws  of  court  etiquette ;  re- 
move the  railing  and  there  will  be  some  one  falling  every  day.' 

"  The  king  enjoys  conversing  with  Brinkenstein  and,  although 
decorous  and  dignified  demeanor  best  pleases  him,  he  is  not  averse 
to  unconstrained  cheerfulness.  The  queen  is  too  serious  ;  she  is 
always  grand  organ.  But  one  cannot  dance  to  organ  music  and, 
as  we  are  still  young,  we  often  feel  like  dancing.  Brinkenstein 
must  have  commended  me  to  the  king,  for  he  often  addresses  me, 
and  in  a  manner  that  seems  to  say :  '  We  understand  each  other 
perfectly.' " 

"  June  ist  (at  nighf). 

"  It  is  a  pity,  dear  Emma,  that  what  I  have  written  above  bears 
no  date.  I  have  completely  forgotten  when  I  wrote  it — auld  lang 
syne,  as  it  says  in  the  pretty  Scotch  song. 

."  I  feel  the  justice  of  your  complaint,  that  my  letters  are  written 
for  myself  and  not  for  the  one  to  whom  they  are  addressed  ;  that 
is,  whenever  I  feel  like  writing,  but  not  when  you  happen  to  wish 
for  news.  But  you  are  wrong  in  charging  this  to  egotism.  I  am 
not  an  egotist.  I  am  wholly  absorbed  by  the  impressions  of  the 
moment.  Ah,  why  are  you  not  here  with  me !  There  is  not  a 
day,  not  a  night,  not  an  hour —  But  I  shall  do  better.  That  is,  I 
mean  to  try,  at  all  events. 

"The  king  distinguishes  me  above  all  others,  and  I  enjoy  the 
favor  of  the  whole  court.  If  it  were  not  for  the  demon  that  ever 
whispers  to  me — 

"  I  send  you  my  photograph.  We  are  now  wearing  wings  on 
our  hats,  and  the  feather  you  see  on  mine  was  taken  from  an 
eagle  that  the  king  shot  with  his  own  hand. 

"O  what  lovely  days  and  nights  we  are  having.  If  one  could 
only  do  without  sleep.  I  am  giving  great  attention  to  music  and 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  77 

sing  nothing  but  Schumann.  His  music  invests  the  soul  with  a 
magic  veil,  with  a  fire  that  seems  to  consume  while  it  fills  you 
with  happiness,  and  from  the  spell  of  which  none  can  escape, 
though  they  try  ever  so  hard.  I  gladly  yield  to  its  influence.  I 
have  just  been  singing  'The  heavens  have  kissed  the  earth.'  It 
was  late  at  night,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  go  on  singing  forever. 
You  know  my  habit  of  repeating  the  same  song  again  and  again  ; 
of  all  things  a  pot  pourri  of  the  emotions  is  least  to  my  liking. 
At  last  I  lay  down  by  the  window — who  was  it  that  glided  past  ? 
I  dare  not  say.  I  do  not  care  to  know.  There  was  a  humming  in 
the  direction 'of  the  lamp  on  my  table.  A  moth-fly  had  flown  into 
it  and  had  been  consumed  by  the  flame.  The  moth  had  not  wished 
to  die ;  it  had  imagined  the  light  to  be  a  glowing  flower-cup,  and 
had  buried  itself  in  it. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  death  !  To  die  in  the  summer  night,  amid 
song  and  in  the  light  of  the  fiery  calyx.  Good  night !" 

"  June  3<£ 

"  No  matter  where  I  am  or  what  I  do,  I  am  always  excited, 
without  knowing  why.  But  I  have  it,  after  all.  I  am  constantly 
thinking  that  this  letter  to  you  is  still  lying  in  my  portfolio.  If  any 
one  at  court  knew  what  I  have  written. — I  have  already  been  on 
the  point  of  burning  these  sheets.  I  beg  of  you,  destroy  them. 
You  will, — will  you  not  ?  or  else  conceal  them  in  some  safe  place. 
I  cannot  help  it,  I  must  tell  you  all. 

"  The  queen  is  very  kind  to  me.  Her  present  condition  invests 
her  with  a  touching,  I  might  almost  say,  a  sacred  character. 

"'Man  is  God's  temple,'  said  the  archbishop,  who  paid  us  a 
visit  yesterday,  '  and  of  no  one  is  this  so  true  as  of  a  young  moth- 
er ;  above  all,  a  young  royal  mother.' 

"  What  a  noble  thought ! 

"  I  now  think  quite  differently  of  the  queen.  When  she  said  to 
me,  yesterday :  '  Countess  Irma,  the  king  speaks  of  you  With  great 
affection,  and  I  am  very  glad  of  it,'  I  thought  to  myself:  Blessed 
be  the  etiquette  that  permits  me  to  bend  down  before  the  queen 
and  kiss  her  hand. 

'  Her  hand  is  now  quite  full  and  round." 

"  June  yh. 

"  The  most  cheerful  hours  are  those  we  spend  at  breakfast.  I 
do  not  know  how,  after  such  Olympic  moments,  the  rest  can  con- 
tent themselves  with  every  day  matters,  for  I  always  wing  my  flight 
into  the  boundless  realm  of  music. 

"  The  king  is  very  kind  to  me.  He  is  of  a  noble  and  earnest 
character.  While  I  was  walking  with  him  in  the  park,  yesterday, 
and  we  both  kept  step  so  beautifully,  he  said : 

" '  You  seem  like  a  true  comrade  to  me,  for  we  always  walk  to- 
gether in  perfect  step.  No  woman  has  ever  walked  thus  with  me. 
With  the  queen  I  am  always  obliged  to  slacken  my  usual  pace.' 


78  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

'"That  is  only  of  late,  I  suppose.' 

"  '  Xo,  it  is  always  so.  Will  you  permit  me,  when  \  e  are  alone, 
to  address  you  as  my  good  comrade  ?  ' 

"We  stopped  where  we  were,  like  two  children  who  have  lost 
their  way  in  the  woods  and  do  not  know  where  they  are. 

"  '  Let  us  return,'  was  all  I  could  say. 

"We  went  back  to  the  palace.  I  admire  the  king's  self-control, 
for  he  at  once  entered  into  earnest  conversation  with  his  minister. 
Such  self-control  can  only  result  from  great  education  and  innate 
mental  power. 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  more.     Let  me  confide  it  to  you. 

"  I  feel  sure  that  the  queen  meditates  a  step  which  must  needs 
be  fraught  with  evil  to  the  king,  to  herself,  and  to  who  knows  how 
many  more. .  I  would  have  liked  to  acquaint  him  with  my  fears, 
but  I  dared  not  speak  of  the  queen  at  that  time,  and  Doctor 
Gunther,  the  king's  physician,  had  made  me  afraid  to  utter  a  word 
on  the  subject.  I  am  talking  in  riddles,  I  know.  I  will  explain  all 
to  you  at  some  future  day,  if  you  remind  me  of  it.  In  a  few 
weeks,  all  will  be  decided.  My  lips  are  not  sealed,  for  the  queen  has 
confided  nothing  to  me.  I  have  simply  reasoned  from  appearances. 
But  enough  of  this.  I  shall  no  longer  torment  you  with  riddles. 

"  My  best  friend,  after  all,  is  Doctor  Gunther.  He  is  great  by 
nature,  and  still  more  so  by  education.  He  is  always  up  to  his  own 
high  standard.  I  have  never  yet  seen  him  confused  or  uncertain. 
The  old  fashioned  phrase,  a  'wise  man,'  is,  indeed,  applicable  to 
him.  He  is  not  fond  of  so-called  'spirituality'  or  'intellectuality/ 
for  he  is  truly  wise.  He  has  great  command  of  language.  His 
hands  are  beautiful,  almost  priestly,  as  if  formed  for  blessing.  He 
never  loses  his  equanimity  and,  what  is  best  of  all,  never  indulges 
in  superlatives.  \Vhen  I  once  mentioned  this  to  him,  he  agreed 
with  me,  and  added :  '  I  should  like  to  deprive  the  world  of  its 
superlatives  for  the  next  fifty  years ;  that  would  oblige  men  to 
think  and  feel  more  clearly  and  distinctly  than  they  now  do.' 

"  Do  you  not,  dear  Emma,  perfectly  agree  with  this  ?  Let  us 
found  an  anti-superlative  society.  I  admire  the  man,  but  will 
never  be  able  successfully  to  imitate  him.  Through  him,  I  have 
learned  to  believe  that  there  have  been  great  and  wise  men  on 
earth.  While  yet  a  surgeon  in  the  army,  he  was  my  father's  friend. 
Afterward,  he  filled  a  professorship  in  Switzerland,  and,  for  the  last 
eighteen  years,  has  been  physician  to  the  king.  You  would  be 
delighted  with  him.  To  know  him,  is  to  enrich  one's  life.  If  I 
were  to  wTrite  down  all  his  sayings,  half  the  charm  were  lost,  for 
you  would  lose  the  spell  of  his  presence.  He  has  a  most  con- 
vincing air  and  a  sonorous  voice,  and  I  have  heard  that  he  used  to 
sing  very  well.  He  is  a  perfect  man,  and  loves  me  as  if  I  w^ere 
his  niece.  I  shall  have  much  more  to  tell  you  about  him.  Above 
all  things,  I  am  glad  that  he  has  a  fine  vein  of  humor.  This 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  79 

furnishes  the  salt  and  prevents  him  from  being  included  among  the 
class  of  sugar-water  beings. 

"Colonel  Bronnen  is  his  best,  perhaps  his  only  intimate,  friend, 
and  the  Doctor  recently  told  me  that  the  Colonel's  manner  and 
appearance  greatly  resemble  that  of  my  father  while  a  young 
man." 

"  June  i  yh. 

"Ah,  how  hateful,  how  horrible  is  the  thought  of  man's  birth 
and  death  !  To  die — to  be  laid  in  the  earth,  and  to  know  that  the 
eyes  that  once  glowed  with  life,  and  the  lips  that  once  smiled,  are 
to  decay.  The  very  idea  is  a  barbarous  one.  Why  do  we  know 
of  death  ?  We  must  be  immortal,  or  else  it  were  terrible  that  we 
human  beings  should  alone  know  that  we  must  die.  The  moth- 
fly  did  not  know  it.  It  simply  thought  the  burning  light  was  a 
lovely  flower,  and  died  in  that  belief. 

"  Since  last  evening,  we  have  been  greatly  concerned  for  the 
queen,  indeed,  for  a  double  life.  She  was  so  good,  so  angelic. — 
But  no,  she  still  is,  and  will  remain  so.  She  will  live.  I  have 
prayed  for  it  with  all  my  heart.  Away  with  doubts  !  My  prayer 
must  avail. 

"  When  I  met  the  king  to-day  he  scarcely  looked  at  me,  and  it 
is  better  for  me,  that  it  should  be  thus.  A  feeling  was  beginning 
to  bud  within  me,  and  now  I  pluck  it  out  by  the  roots.  It  dare 
not  be.  I  will  be  his  comrade ;  his  good,  his  best  comrade. 

"  My  piano,  my  music,  my  pictures,  my  statuettes,  my  bird— all 
seem  strange  to  me.  A  human  being,  a  two-fold  life,  is  in  mortal 
danger.  What  does  all  the  trumpery  in  the  world  amount  to  now  ? 
All  of  it  together  cannot  save  a  human  life.  Is  original  sin  a 
truth,  and  is  it  because  of  that,  that  man  must  pass  through  the 
throes  of  death  before  he  can  behold  the  light  ? 

"  I  would  like  to  read,  but  there  is  no  book  that  can  serve  one 
in  such  moments.  One  cannot  even  think.  Nothing,  nothing  can 
be  done.  All  the  wisdom  in  all  the  books  is  of  no  avail." 

"  June  \6th. 

"  Hallelujah !  I  have  just  come  from  church.  O  that  my 
song  could  reach  you.  I  have  just  sung  the  Hallelujah  as  if  I 
were  pouring  out  my  whole  soul  to  God  above. 

"  Hallelujah  ! 

"A  11  is  well! 

"  The  crown  prince  is  born  ! 

"  The  queen  is  doing  well.  The  king  is  happy,  the  world  is 
bright,  and  the  blue  sky  overhead  is  cloudless. 

"  God  be  praised,  that  I  have  so  soon  escaped  from  my  perplex- 
ing doubts.  Perhaps  it  was  all  imagination,  after  all.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  ground  for  my  alarm. 

"  I  am  but  a  silly  cloister  plant,  after  all,  and  do  not  yet  under- 
stand the  ways  of  the  court.  Is  it  not  so  ?  I  see  you  laughing  at 


8o  O.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

me,  and  see  the  dimples  in  your  cheeks.  I  send  you  many  kisses. 
Ah,  all  are  so  good  and  pious,  and  holy,  and  happy,  and —  If  I 
could  only  compose,  I  should  produce  some  great  work.  A  mute 
Beethoven  dwells  within  my  soul." 

"July  i&t/i. 

"  The  crown  prince's  nurse  is  a  peasant  woman,  from  the  High- 
lands. At  the  king's  desire,  I  paid  her  a  visit.  I  was  standing  by 
the  prince's  cradle,  when  the  king  approached. 

"  Softly  he  whispered  to  me  :  '  It  is  indeed  true  ;  there  is  an  an- 
gel standing  by  my  child's  cradle.' 

"  My  hand  was  on  the  rail,  and  his  hand  rested  on  mine. 

"  The  king  left  the  room,  and  just  imagine  what  happened  after- 
wards. 

"The  nurse,  a  fresh  and  hardy-looking  peasant  woman,  with 
shrewd  blue  eyes — a  perfect  rustic  beauty,  indeed,  to  whom  I  had 
been  kind  in  order  to  cheer  her  up,  and  prevent  her  from  growing 
homesick — now  turned  upon  me  and  told  me  harshly,  and  to  my 
face :  '  You  're  an  adulteress ;  you  've  been  exchanging  love- 
glances  with  the  king  ! ' 

"  Emma,  I  now  feel  the  force  of  what  you  have  often  said  to  me  : 
'  You  idolize  the  people ;  but  they  are  just  as  sinful  and  corrupt  as 
the  great  world,  and  without  education  to  curb  and  restrain  them.' 

"  But  what  is  the  peasant  woman  to  me,  after  all  ?  Certain 
persons  exist,  only  in  so  far  as  they  serve  our  purposes. 

"No,  she  is  a  good  and  sensible  woman,  and  has  asked  me  to 
forgive  her  boldness.  I  shall  remain  her  friend.  I  shall,  indeed." 

"  June  2$f/i. 

"  The  king  evinces  the  greatest  kindness  towards  me.  It  is  only 
yesterday  that  he  remarked  to  me,  while  passing : 

" '  Should  you  ever  have  a  secret,  confide  it  to  me.' 

"  He  knows  full  well  that  I  could  hardly  go  to  my  brother,  as  a 
sister  should,  and  that  my  father  is  so  far  away. 

"Colonel  Bronnen,  of  the  queen's  regiment,  is  very  attentive  to 
me.  He  is  usually  quite  reserved.  Ah,  how  I  envy  those  who 
possess  such  self-control.  I  have  none.  The  demonstrative  are 
always  flattering  themselves  that  their  irrepressibility  is  simple 
honesty,  whereas  it  is  nothing  but  weakness. 

"  Bronnen  tells  me  that  you  write  to  him  at  times.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  a  single  thought  of  yours  enters  this  palace,  without 
being  mine  ? 

"  I  am  delighted  to  know  that  we  return  to  the  summer  palace 
in  a  fortnight  from  now.  Cities  ought  to  vanish  during  the  sum- 
mer. We  ought  to  be  able  to  transport  our  houses  into  the  woods, 
among  the  mountains,  or  in  the  valleys,  and  in  the  winter  they 
might  be  brought  together  again. 

"  Last  evening,  while  we  were  sitting  on  the  verandah,  we  were 
greatly  amused  by  a  joke  of  my  brother  Bruno's.  He  gave  us  a 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  81 

description  of  what  might  happen  if  the  feet  of  all  the  four-post 
bedsteads  in  the  city  were  endowed  with  life  and,  with  their  con- 
tents, were  to  come  stalking  along  the  garden-walks.  It  was  very 
droll.  Of  course,  there  was  some  little  that  was  scarcely  proper ; 
but  Bruno,  with  all  his  impertinence,  has  so  charming  a  manner 
that  he  knew  how  to  couch  his  descriptions  in  most  discreet 
yet  piquant  terms. 

"  It  was  this  that  suggested  the  idea  of  a  migration  of  houses. 

"  It  was  a  lively  evening,  full  of  merry  jests  that  still  seem  to 
ring  in  my  ears  while  I  write  to  you. 

"  The  king  has  a  new  walking-stick — he  has  quite  a  collection 
of  such — and  this  one  pays  court  to  me.  I  am  said  to  be  intellect- 
ual, and  this  walking-stick  is  intellectual  par  excellence,  and  '  birds 
of  a  feather  flock  together,'  you  know. 

"It  is  Baron  Schnabelsdorf,  privy  councilor  of  one  of  the  lega- 
tions. 

"Picture  to  yourself  a  dapper,  beardless  bachelor,  always  in 
faultless  attire.  Every  one  of  the  few  hairs  left  him  is  made  to  do 
service,  and  is  artistically  brushed  up  into  the  form  of  a  cock's 
comb.  He  passes  for  an  authority  in  matters  of  statecraft.  He 
has  just  returned  from  Rome,  and  was  formerly  attached  to  the 
embassies  at  Paris  and  Madrid  and,  if  1  am  not  mistaken,  that  at 
Stockholm,  also.  He  is  a  fluent  and  ready  anecdotist.  He  must 
have  a  familiar  spirit  who  crams  for  him,  for  he  knows  every- 
thing, from  the  cut  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  sleeve  to  the  latest 
discoveries  in  the  milky-way  and  the  recent  excavations  at 
Nineveh.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  have  several  times  amused 
themselves  by  reading  up  one  or  more  articles  in  the  encyclopedia, 
and  then  directing  their  conversation  to  the  subjects  they  had 
prepared  themselves  upon.  But  the  omniscient  Baron  was,  even 
then,  better  informed  as  to  dates  and  circumstances  than  they 
were.  He  is  always  provided  with  a  bonbonniere  full  of  piquant 
anecdotes.  He  is  almost  constantly  with  the  king,  and  it  is 
rumored  that  a  high  position  will  soon  be  conferred  upon  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  had  I  better  marry  him  ? 

"  My  brother  would  like  me  to  do  so  and,  although  he  stoutly 
denies  it,  I  still  believe  that  Schnabelsdorf  sent  him  to  broach  the 
affair  to  me.  I  could  not  help  laughing,  if  I  were  to  stand  at  the 
altar  with  this  learned  walking-stick.  But  it  is,  nevertheless,  very 
flattering  to  know  that  so  learned  a  man  desires  me  as  his  spouse. 
I  must  be  excessively  learned  and  clever,  and  you  ought  to  respect 
me  accordingly. 

"  A  thousand  greetings  and  kisses,  from 

"Your  ever  spoiled 

"IRMA. 

"P.  S. — The  queen's  brother,  the  hereditary  prince  of ,  was 

at  the  christening,  and   his  wife   was  also  present.      She  rarely 
4* 


82  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

utters  ?.  word,  but  is  beautiful.  It  is  reported  that  the  hereditary 
prince  intends  to  seek  a  divorce  from  her,  as  she  is  childless.  If; 
as  really  seems  to  be  the  case,  she  loves  her  husband,  how  terribly 
the  pot  r  thing  must  feel.  She  must  have  noticed  my  interest  in 
her,  lor  she  treats  me  with  marked  favor,  and  has  more  to  say  to 
me  than  any  one  else.  She  wishes  me  to  ride  with  her.  The 
christening  ceremonies  were  impressive  and  beautiful.  At  church, 
1  wore  a  white  moire  dress,  and  a  veil  fastened  to  my  coiffure. 
At  the  banquet,  Baron  Schoning,  the  chamberlain,  escorted  me 
to  the  table.  I  am  regarded  here  as  of  a  highly  poetic  tempera- 
ment, and  the  chamberlain  has  already  presented  me  with  a  copy 
of  his  poems.  (You  know  them.  He  has  disguised  his  sublime 
emotions  in  the  Highland  dialect.)  He  affects  my  company  and, 
while  at  table,  told  me  lots  of  fearfully  silly  stuff.  Well,  as  I  was 
going  to  say,  at  the  banquet  I  wore  a  dress  of  sea-green  silk,  cut 
out  square  a  la  madonna,  and  in  my  hair  a  simple  wreath  of 
heather.  They  all  said  that  I  looked  very  well,  and  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  that  they  told  the  truth." 


BOOK   II. 


CHAPTER   I. 

LIFE  at  the  palace  again  moved  in  its  wonted  channel.  Bulle- 
tins as  to  the  condition  of  the  queen  and  the  crown  prince, 
were  no  longer  issued.  The  amnesty  which  had  been  proclaimed  in 
consequence  of  the  happy  event,  had  been  received  with  satisfac- 
tion throughout  the  land. 

Irma  spent  much  of  her  time  in  the  crown  prince's  apartments, 
and  endeavored  to  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  peasant  woman 
who  had  been  transplanted  into  a  world  that  was  entirely  new  and 
strange  to  her.  She  was  greatly  amused  by  the  droll  conceits  that 
this  new  life  awakened  in  Walpurga.  Her  peculiar  way  of  looking 
at  things  was  frequently  in  accord  with  Walpurga's  simple-minded 
notions,  and  when  Irma  was  absent,  the  nurse  would  speak  to  the 
child  for  hours,  endeavoring,  as  it  were,  to  outdo  herself  with  all 
sorts  of  droll  expressions  which,  eccentric  as  they  were,  failed  to 
satisfy  her. 

A  strong  and  deep  spring  of  happiness  and  content,  earnest  re- 
solve and  all  that  makes  men  true,  welled  up  from  Walpurga's 
soul  and  ministered  to  the  benefit  of  the  babe  that  she  had 
pressed  to  her  bosom  ;  the  child  had  become  as  a  part  of  herself. 

With  constant  regularity  the  prince  was  daily  carried  to  the 
queen.  That  was  the  event  of  the  day,  after  which,  life,  in  the 
crown  prince's  apartments,  went  on  in  its  usual  course. 

Doctor  Gunther  now  relaxed  his  orders ;  for  one  day,  he  said :. 
"  The  weather  is  charming,  and  it  will  do  the  prince  good  to  send 
him  out  of  doors  for  a  little  while.  We  will  arrange  it  in  this 
way : — At  eleven  o  'clock,  you  can  drive  out  with  Walpui  ga  and 
the  prince,  as  far  as  the  Nymph's  Grove.  Arrived  there,  you  can 
walk  about  with  the  child  under  the  pines,  or  can  sit  down,  if  you 
wish  to  do  so.  After  remaining  there  about  half  an  hour,  you  will 
return  and  at  once  remove  to  the  new  apartments.  You  have 
taken  good  care  of  yourself,  Walpurga ;  continue  to  do  so.  Let 
nothing  move  you  from  your  accustomed  ways,  and  you  will  con- 
tinue to  afford  pleasure  to  all  of  us,  as  well  as  to  yourself." 


Walpurga  was  quite  beside  herself  with  happiness.  "We  're 
ut  riding,"  said  she  to  the  child,  when  the  physician  had 
God  sends  you  everything  good  while  you  are  asleep.  But 


going  c 
left.     " 


you  '11  let  me  have  some,  too,  won't  you  ?  for  you  've  a  good  heart, 
and  I  've  given  you  mine." 


84  0-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Walpurga  would  have  continued  in  this  vein  for  a  long  while, 
but  Mademoiselle  Kramer  came  up  and,  while  gently  patting  her 
cheeks,  said  :  "  You  '11  have  red  cheeks  again.  Show  your  love  for 
the  prince,  with  calmness  and  moderation,  and  not  with  such  ex- 
travagant expressions." 

"You  're  right,"  said  Walpurga.  "It 's  true  ;  I  'm  not  always 
so.  I  was  always  cheerful,  but  prudent  at  the  same  time  ;  not  so 
giddy  as  I  now  am,"  said  she,  after  she  had  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  several  times,  and  had  at  last  sat  down  by  the  window. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  ails  me." 

"  Indeed,  does  anything  ail  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  worst  of  all  ills.  I  Ve  nothing  to  do.  I  do  n't  know 
what  to  put  my  hands  to.  This  constant  talking,  dressing  and  un- 
dressing, eating  and  drinking,  with  nothing  else  to  do,  makes  me 
stupid.  The  next  time  the  Doctor  comes,  tell  him  to  give  me 
some  work.  I  '11  carry  wood  or  do  anything  that  is  to  be  done. 
They  're  mowing  the  grass  in  the  palace  garden,  and  if  I  could 
only  be  down  there  with  them,  I  'd  feel  the  better  of  it.  No  man 
could  beat  me  at  mowing  grass.  Grubersepp  often  used  to  say 
that  the  women  sharpened  their  scythes  seven  times  as  often  as 
the  men,  but  that  never  happened  with  me." 

"  Oh,  that  would  never  do.  But  I  shall  see  that  you  get  some 
exercise." 

"  Come,  you  're  to  go  out  of  doors,  into  the  fresh  air,"  said 
Walpurga  to  the  prince. 

Thy  cage  is  open !     Fly  away, 

Far  o'er  land  and  sea. 
But  tell  me,  birdie ;  tell  me  pray, — 

Where  can  my  darling  be  ? 

"  What  a  pity  that  the  birds  have  stopped  singing.  Yes,  dear 
child,  they  only  sing  so  long  as  there  are  young  ones  in  the  nest ; 
but  I  shall  have  you  in  my  nest  for  a  whole  year,  and  I  '11  sing 
better  than  the  birds  could," — and  she  sang: 

Ah,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee, 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by 
When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

My  heart  doth  bear  a  burden,  love, 
And  thou  hast  placed  it  there — 
And  I  would  wager  e'en  my  life 
That  none  doth  heavier  bear. 

"  Brava !  charming !  "  said  Countess  Irma,  entering  the  room. 
«'  I  should  like  to  learn  that  song.  Sing  it  again." 

Walpurga  repeated  it  and,  at  the  second  verse,  Irma  joined  in 
the  song. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  85 

"  It  does  n't  really  suit  a  child,"  said  Walpurga,  "  but  what  does 
such  a  youngster  know  about  lowing  cows  or  singing  birds  ?  It 's 
all  one  to  him.  We  're  going  out  riding  to-day.  Do  you  go  with 

U5  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  ride  with  you,  but  I  may  not,"  replied 
Countess  Irma. 

"Then  you  're  not  allowed  to  do  whatever  you  please." 

Her  words  surprised  Irma:  "  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  she, 
sharply. 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  've  said  anything  stupid.  I  only  meant  to  say 
that  you  're  in  service  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  You  're  a  maid- 
of-honor,  I  believe." 

"  All  must  serve  some  one ;  the  king  and  queen  serve  God." 

"We  must  all  do  that." 

"  Yes,  but  princes  have  a  much  harder  time  of  it  than  we,  for 
theirs  is  a  far  greater  responsibility.  But  what  am  I  saying?  You 
ought  to  feel  happy  that  you  need  n't  know  everything.  I  've 
brought  some  writing  copies  for  you.  I  owe  you  thanks  for  one 
thing,  already.  Ever  since  I  've  resolved  to  teach  you,  my  own 
writing  has  become  far  plainer  than  before — " 

Irma  suddenly  checked  herself,  for  she  realized  the  full  force  of 
what  she  had  been  saying,  and  continued :  "for  you  are  to  learn 
it  thoroughly." 

Baum  came  to  announce  that  the  carriage  was  waiting.  Irma 
left,  saying  that  she  would  meet  Walpurga  in  the  park. 

They  now  went  out  and  Baum  let  down  the  carriage  steps  for 
them.  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  who  was  the  first  to  enter,  held  the 
child  until  Walpurga  had  seated  herself.  Baum  jumped  up  behind 
and  took  his  place  beside  the  second  lackey ;  the  four  horses 
stepped  out  and  the  carriage  started. 

"Are  we  driving?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

"Certainly." 

"  It  seems  like  flying.  I  can't  hear  the  least  rumbling  of  the 
wheels." 

"  Of  course  you  can't.     The  tires  are  covered  with  india  rubber." 

"  And  so  they  wear  cloth  shoes  just  as  we  do  when  we  walk  on 
smooth  floors.  Oh  how  clever  they  all  are  here.  Out  yonder,  they 
do  n't  know  a  thing.  They  live  just  like  cattle ;  the  only  difference 
is  they  do  n't  eat  grass — but  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  said  she,  starting 
with  fright.  "  They  're  beatirig  the  drums  and  the  soldiers  are 
rushing  towards  us.  Is  there  a  fire  somewhere?" 

"  That 's  on  our  account.  The  guard  always  present  arms 
when  a  member  of  the  royal  family  passes  by — watch  them.  They  're 
presenting  arms,  and  after  we  've  passed  they  '11  lay  their  muskets 
aside  and  return  to  the  guard-room.  Their  regiment  is  known  as 
the  crown  prince's,  for  it  belongs  to  him." 

"And  so  he  '11  have  live  soldiers  to  play  with  when  he  grows 
up." 


S£  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  showed  all  the  self-command  1  efitting 
one  who  could  boast  of  a  line  of  sixteen  ancestors.  A  slight  start 
and  an  odd,  nervous  twitching  of  the  features,  as  if  suppressing  a 
yawn,  were  the  only  visible  effects  of  Walpurga's  words.  But  of 
laughter  there  was  not  a  sign.  An  upper  sen-ant  of  the  right  sort 
must  hear  and  see  all  that  is  going  on,  and  yet  stand  by  as  if  he  were 
no  more  than  the  table  or  plate  that  can  be  moved  about  at  will ;  and 
although  Walpurga  was  not  her  superior,  it  would  not  do  to  laugh 
at  hr.r,  for  she  was  nurse  to  his  royal  highness  the  crown  prince. 
Mademoiselle  Kramer  therefore  refrained  from  laughing,  and,  as  il 
to  evade  answering,  merely  said;  "When  we  pass  the  guard  on 
our  way  home,  the  same  thing  will  happen  again. 

"And  may  I  ask  what 's  the  good  of  it  all?" 

"  Certainly ;  there  is  a  good  reason  for  e  /erything,  and  this  serves 
to  accustom  the  people,  and  especially  the  soldiers,  to  show  proper 
respect  to  their  superiors." 

"But  our  prince  don't  know  anything  of  that." 

"We  must  show  our  respect  for  him,  even  though  he  know 
nothing  of  it ;  and  now  let  me  tell  you  something  which  it  would 
be  well  for  you  to  know.  Whenever  you  speak  or  think  of  their 
majesties,  the  king  and  queen,  let  it  be  as  '  his  majesty '  or  '  her 
majesty,'  but  never  simply  as  king  or  queen,  so  that  you  may  never 
so  far  forget  yourself  as  to  speak  or  think  of  them  in  a  disrespect- 
ful manner.  Bear  this  in  mind." 

Walpurga  scarcely  heard  a  word  of  what  she  said. 

"Oh  Lord!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  wisely  they've  arranged 
even-thing.  It  must  have  taken  many  thousand  years  before  they 
could  get  so  far." 

"  It  has,  indeed.  But  you  need  n't  nod  to  every  one  you  see 
bowing.  It  is  n't  meant  for  you." 

"  But  I  'd  like  to  do  it  for  my  prince,  until  he  can  attend  to  it 
himself.  They  all  show  how  glad  they  'd  be  to  get  a  look  at  him. 
They  all  bow  to  you,  my  child — you  're  well  off,  indeed — oh,  what 
a  lovely  carriage  this  is.  It 's  as  soft  as  a  bed,  and  as  comfortable 
as  a  room,  and  you  can  sit  here  and  see  all  that 's  going  on  out- 
side, and — dear  me,  how  fast  we  're  going." 

They  turned  into  the  park.  The  carriage  drove  slowly  while 
they  passed  the  lake,  and  Walpurga  was  ever  saying : 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  in  fairy-land." 

They  alighted  by  the  shady  and  fragrant  Grove  of  the  Nymphs. 
As  soon  as  she  had  left  the  carriage,  Walpurga,  who  was  earn  ing 
the  child  in  her  arms,  said  : 

"  Open  your  eyes  !  Look  about  you  !  The  whole  w-orld  's  yours. 
There  are  trees  and  meadows  and,  overhead,  the  blue  sky.  But 
your  father  can't  give  you  that ;  you  '11  have  to  earn  it  by  being 
good,  and  if  }  ou  and  I  both  remain  good,  we  '11  meet  again,  up 
above." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  87 

"Sit  down  here,  Walpurga,  and  pray  cease  talking,"  said  Mad- 
emoiselle Kramer. 

She  was  terribly  anxious  about  Walpurga,  who  talked  inces- 
santly and  incoherently,  and  was  as  unmanageable  as  a  young  foal 
that  has  just  been  let  loose  in  the  meadow. 

For  this  reason,  Mademoiselle  Kramer  again  remarked :  "  Speak 
softly,  and  address  all  your  remarks  to  me.  I  should  be  sorry  if 
the  lackeys  behind  us  were  making  sport  of  you.  Do  you  see  the 
outrider  over  there?  He  is  my  nephew."  Walpurga  had  not, 
until  then,  noticed  that  two  lackeys,  one  of  whom  was  Baum,  were 
following  them.  The  carriage  was  being  driven  up  and  down  the 
side  avenues.  Suddenly,  Walpurga  stopped,  as  if  spellbound,  be- 
fore a  marble  figure. 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful?"  asked  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

"  Fie  !  "  replied  Walpurga.  "  It 's  abominable  ;  and  to  think  of 
men  and  women  walking  about  here  and  looking  at  such  an 
object." 

When  the  old  king  had  the  statues  placed  in  the  park,  Made- 
moiselle Kramer  had  deemed  them  objectionable,  but  as  their 
majesties  had  found  them  beautiful,  she  had  gradually  come  to  look 
upon  them  in  the  same  light. 

They  went  into  a  side  avenue,  where  Walpurga  sat  down  on  a 
bench  and,  falling  into  a  reverie,  soon  knew  as  little  of  the  world 
as  did  the  child  in  her  arms. 

"Who  's  there?  "  said  she,  as  if  awakened  from  sleep. 

Riding  between  two  horsemen,  she  beheld  a  lady  mounted  on  a 
glossy  black  steed.  Her  riding  habit  was  of  blue  and  the  long 
flowing  veil  fastened  to  her  hat  was  of  the  same  color. 

"  It  looks  like  the  Countess." 

"  It  is  she,  and  now  they  dismount.  His  majesty  the  king  and 
their  royal  highnesses  the  hereditary  prince  and  princess,  are  with 
her.  They  are  coming  this  way,"  said  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 
"Keep  your  seat.  As  nurse,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  about 
being  polite." 

But  Walpurga  could  not  help  putting  her  hands  up  to  her  hat, 
in  order  to  feel  whether  the  tassel  at  the  back  and  the  flowers  in 
front  were  still  in  place. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  begged  their  highnesses  not  to  look  at 
the  sleeping  child,  lest  they  might  awaken  it. 

Irma  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  How  deeply  significant  are  all 
of  nature's  laws.  The  waking  eye  arouses  the  sleeping  child.  In 
the  depths  of  every  human  soul,  an  infant  soul  rests  sleeping,  and 
it  is  not  well  to' permit  either  sympathy  or  idle  curiosity  to  disturb  it." 

"I  would  like  to  know  how  you  always  manage  to  have  such 
original  thoughts,"  replied  the  king. 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  replied  Irma,  playing  with  her  riding  whip. 
"  I  Ve  courage  enough  to  say  what  I  think,  and  that  passes  for 


88  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

originality.  Nearly  all  human  beings  are  changelings.  They  were 
changed  while  in  the  cradle  of  education." 

The  king  laughed.  Walpurga  however,  quickly  turned  he! 
thumbs  inward,  anclsaid . 

"  Changeling.  It"*s~wrong  to  speak  of  anything  of  that  sort  be- 
fore a  child  that 's  less  than  seven  months  old,  for  the  evil  spirits 
aie  all  powerful  up  to  that  time,  even  if  the  child  is  christened." 

In  order  to  exorcise  any  evil  spell  from  the  child,  she  breathed 
upon  it  thrice. 

The  princess  looked  sadly  at  the  nurse  and  the  child,  but  did 
not  utter  a  word. 

"  I  do  n't  understand  a  word  of  what  the  nurse  says,"  remarked 
the  hereditary  prince. 

Walpurga  blushed  scarlet. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?"  asked  Countess  Irma,  "don't 
you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  but  do  you  know  \vho  you  look  like?  like  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake.  When  she  rises  from  the  waves,  her  dress 
hangs  about  her  in  a  sea  of  folds  just  like  yours." 

Irma  laughed,  while  she,  in  High  German,  told  the  prince  and 
princess  what  the  nurse  had  been  saying.  The  prince  nodded  to 
Walpurga  much  as  he  would  have  done  with  a  dumb  animal  to 
which  he  could  not  render  himself  intelligible. 

"  But  Countess  Irma's  feet  are  not  swan's  feet.  Do  n't  believe 
that,  W'alpurga,"  said  the  king  laughing.  "Come,  'Lady  of  the 
Lake.' " 

They  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  away. 

It  was  time  for  the  prince  to  return. 

On  their  return,  they  at  once  repaired  to  the  new  apartments  on 
the  ground  floor,  into  which  everything  had  been  removed  during 
their  absence. 

They  now  had  sunlight  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  The  apart- 
ments opened  out  on  the  park  where  the  blackbird  sang  in  the 
broad  daylight,  and  where  the  breezes  were  laden  with  the  odor  of 
the  orange  bushes.  Tall  trees  were  whispering  in  the  wind  and  a 
great  fountain  was  constantly  murmuring  and  plashing. 

Walpurga  was  quite  happy  and  the  fountain  was  her  greatest 
delight. 

"  It 's  far  more  comfortable  on  the  first  floor,"  she  would  often 
say;  "I  feel  as  if  I  'd  just  returned  from  a  long  journey.  The 
rooms  are  so  nice  and  cool,  and  my  night-watchman  sleeps  in  the 
daytime  just  as  a  light-watchman  should,  and — and — 

And  Walpurga  too,  fell  asleep,  although  't  was  daylight. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  89 

CHAPTER  II. 

WALPURGA  soon  accustomed  herself  to  her  cha  iged  mode 
of  life.  She  was  often  concerned  because  she  received  no 
tidings  from  home. 

But  if  there  were  no  letters,  there  was  a  messenger  at  all  events. 
A  servant  entered  the  room  and  said : 

*'  There  's  a  woman  outside,  who  comes  from  the  same  place  as 
Walpurga.  She  wishes  to  speak  to  you  for  a  few  moments." 

"  I  '11  go  to  her.     Who  is  it?  " 

"No,"  said  Mademoiselle  Kranrer;  "receive  her  here." 

The  servant  went  out  at  once,  and  returned,  bringing  old  Zenza 
with  him. 

"Oh,  is  it  you,  Zenza?  Have  you  brought  me  anything  from 
my  child,  my  husband,  or  my  mother?  For  God's  sake,  has  any- 
thing happened?  Are  they  sick?  " 

"  No,  they  're  all  well,  thank  God,  and  send  their  love  to  you." 

Walpurga,  with  an  affectionate  glance,  gazed  into  Zenza's  cun- 
ning eyes,  which  now  seemed  good  and  truthful,  because  they  had 
seen  her  child.  Smiling,  Zenza  went  on  to  say: 

"I  'm  glad  you  still  know  me.  How  bad  the  folks  are.  They 
told  me  you  would  n't  recognize  me,  because,  you  'd  become  a  fine 
lady.  But  no,  you  always  were  a  good  girl,  and  I  Ve  always  said 
so." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that 's  all  very  well ;  but  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me.  If  you  do  n't,  my  son  Thomas  will 
take  his  life  and  I  '11  drown  myself  in  the  lake.  You  '11  help  me, 
won't  you  ?  See,  I  'm  kneeling  at  your  feet.  You  must  help  me. 
Your  dear  father  and  I  were  almost  cousins,  and  if  your  father 
were  alive,  he  'd  say  what  he  's  now  calling  down  to  you  from 
heaven — '  Walpurga,  if  you  do  n't  help  Zenza,  I  '11  never  forgive 
you.' " 

" Get  up  !     What 's  the  matter?     How  can  I  help  you ?  " 

"  I  won't  get  up.  I  '11  die  at  your  feet  unless  you  promise  to 
help  me." 

"  1  '11  do  all  I  can  for  you." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  interposed  and  said  that  unless  Zenza 
would  calm  herself,  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  remain  in  the 
room  another  moment. 

Zenza  arose  and  asked  : 

"Is  that  the  queen?" 

Walpurga  and  Mademoiselle  Kramer  laughed  at  her  question, 
tnd  Zenza  at  last  made  known  her  wish. 

Her  son  Thomas,  she  said,  was  standing  down  there  before  the 
palace,  as  the  guard  would  not  allow  him  to  enter.  He  had  been 
caught  poaching  and,  as  it  was  his  second  offense,  he  had  been 
sentenced  to  two  years'  imprisonment.  And  yet  he  was  not  tc 


90  0.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

blame.  It  lay  in  his  blood.  He  must  go  hunting.  His  father  had 
been  that  way  before  him.  He  had  only  shot  one  little  chamois 
buck  and  for  that  he  was  to  go  to  jail  again.  He  had  sworn  an 
oath  that,  before  he  would  let  them  lock  him  up,  he  would  take  his 
own  life  or  else  commit  a  murder,  so  that  they  might  behead  him 
at  once  ;  and  Zenza  \vent  on  to  say  that  Walpurga  would  have  two, 
—nay,  three  human  lives  on  her  conscience  if  she  did  not  help 
them  ;  that  Walpurga  must  procure  her  an  audience  with  the  king 
or  queen,  so  that  she  might,  on  her  knees,  beg  them  for  mercy. 

"Your  husband  and  the  landlord  of  the  Chamois  sent  me," 
added  Zenza,  "and  they  both  say  it  '11  be  easy  enough  for  you  to 
help  me,  and  if  you  do,  I  '11  be  your  slave  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Yes,  I  'd  like  to  help  you,  but  I  can't  see  how.  Things  are 
not  managed  here  as  they  are  at  home." 

"  Oh,  you  can  find  a  way,  quick  enough.  You  're  clever,  the 
whole  neighborhood  says  so ;  and  I  've  known  it  ever  so  long,  and 
said  so,  too,  on  last  St.  Leonard's  day.  Schneck,  the  tailor,  will 
bear  me  witness,  and  so  will  Spinnerwastl,  too ;  '  Walpurga  bears 
herself,'  said  I,  'as  if  she  were  one  of  the  lowliest,  but  she  's  the 
first  in  the  whole  neighborhood.  You  '11  all  live  to  see  what 
becomes  of  her.  Her  wisdom  and  her  goodness  will  show  them- 
selves.' Now,  Walpurga,  you  '11  help  me ;  won't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  there  's  a  chance." 

"But  I  can't  wait.  Thomas  is  to  go  to  jail  to-morrow  at  day- 
break, and,  if  he  's  not  released  to-day,  there  will  be  murder." 

"My  dear  woman,"  interposed  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  "his 
majesty  the  king  declared  a  general  amnesty  at  the  birth  of  the 
crpwn  prince.  That  covers  your  son's  case,  does  it  not?  " 

"No;  that's  the  very  trouble.  All  the  courts  in  the  country 
are  against  my  Thomas.  Look  at  this.  It 's  all  there.  The 
innkeeper  wrote  it  down,  better  than  I  can  tell  you.  The  writing 
must  reach  the  king  before  noon,  or  it  '11  be  too  late.  My  son 
Thomas  is  walking  up  and  down  out  there,  and  it  's  an  even 
chance  whether  he  goes  to  heaven  or  hell.  He  's  got  a  double- 
barrelled  pistol  with  him,  and  he  '11  shoot  the  first  man  he  looks  at 
and  himself,  too,  before  this  very  palace,  if  I  go  out  there  without 
having  done  anything  for  him." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  run  up  to  the  king  as  I  would  to  the  innkeeper, 
or  I  'd  gladly  do  it." 

"  I  must  sit  down,  my  knees  are  breaking  under  me,"  exclaimed 
Zenza,  and  Mademoiselle  Kramer  hurried  to  bring  her  a  chair. 
And  while  she  sat  there  with  drooping  head,  great  tears  dropped 
upon  the  bony,  thick-veined  hands  that  lay  folded  on  her  knees. 

Walpurga  motioned  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  who  was  trying 
to  console  th ;  old  woman.  She  wanted  to  tell  her  that  Zenza  was 
not  so  very  good,  after  all,  and  that  Thomas  was  still  worse ;  but 
Mademoiselle  Kramer  turned  about  and  said : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  91 

"I  have  an  idea.  Countess  Wildenort's  brother  is  aid-de-camp 
to  his  majesty,  and,  in  half  an  hour  from  now,  will  present  his  re- 
port and  get  the  countersign.  Now,  Walpurga,  go  to  Countess 
Irma  at  once  and  request  her  to  hand  the  petition  to  her  brother, 
so  that  he  may  submit  it  to  his  majesty." 

"Yes,  yes,  do  go — do!  Lord,  what  a  wise  angel'you  have  here 
with  you,  Walpurga  ; — but  go  right  off — do  n't  lose  a  moment ! 
May  I  stay  here  a  little  while  longer,  or  shall  I  wait  down  there  be- 
fore the  palace?" 

"No!  you  may  remain  here,  my  good  woman,"  said  Made- 
moiselle Kramer,  consoling  her.  "But  hurry  yourself,"  said  she, 
addressing  Walpurga,  who  still  held  the  letter  before  her,  and 
stood  there  as  if  immovable. 

Walpurga  left  the  apartment.  When  she  drew  near  to  Irma's 
door,  she  heard  the  Countess,  with  fervid  expression,  singing  Schu- 
mann's song  to  Friedrich  Rueckert's  words : 

He  came  to  me, 

In  storm  and  rain, 
And  boldly,  he 

My  heart  hath  ta'en. 

Was  my  heart  won, 

Or  his,  that  day  ? 
Methinks  both  hearts 

Did  meet  half-way. 

The  chambermaid  announced  Walpurga.  Irma  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  her  song. 

"  Welcome  !     What  good  thought  brings  you  here  ?  " 

Walpurga  hesitated,  but,  at  last,  preferred  her  request  and 
handed  the  paper  to  the  Countess. 

"Take  courage,"  said  Irma,  consolingly. 

She  rang  for  a  servant,  to  whom  she  said  :  "  Tell  my  brother  to 
come  here  at  once."  Then,  addressing  Walpurga,  she  continued  : 
"  I  '11  add  a  few  words  of  my  own.  Be  calm.  I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  grant  your  request.  I  've  often  wanted  to  ask  you  whether 
there  was  not  some  wish  that  you  would  like  to  have  gratified. 
The  king  will  surely  grant  the  pardon." 

Walpurga  would  have  liked  to  interrupt  her,  but  everything 
seemed  as  if  bewitched.  Before  she  could  say  a  word,  the  aid-de- 
camp had  come.  Irma  begged  him  to  wait  while  she  added  a  few 
lines  of  her  own. 

The  aid-de-camp  had  taken  his  leave.  Irma  passed  her  hand 
over  Walpurga's  face  and  said:  "Let  me 'banish  all  your  sad 
thoughts.  Be  happy  and  take  my  word  for  it — the  man  is  saved. 
Go  to  the  poor  woman  and  quiet  her  in  the  meanwhile.  I  '11 
bring  the  answer  to  your  room." 

Walpurga  could  not  find  words,  or  she  would  have  said  some- 


92  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

thing,  even  then.  But  the  petition  had  already  gone.  After  all,  nc 
one  would  be  harmed  in  the  matter,  and,  although  Thomas  really 
was  a  wicked  fellow,  this  might  make  a  better  man  of  him.  Wal- 
purga  left  Irma's  apartment.  Stopping  at  the  door,  for  an  instant, 
to  recover  herself,  she  heard  Irma  singing  again.  When  she 
reached  her  room,  she  was  in  a  calmer  state  and  said  to  Zenza : 

"Your  Thomas  will  get  off;  depend  upon  it.  But  you  must 
give  me  your  word,  and  promise  to  keep  it,  too,  that  Thomas  will 
become  an  honest  man,  and  that  you  won't  help  him  sell  his  stolen 
wares  and  hide  his  evil  ways.  You  needn't  look  at  me  so,  for 
I  've  a  right  to  talk  to  you  this  way.  I  've  risked  a  great  deal  for 
you." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  you  've  a  right  to  say  it,"  replied  Zenza,  in  a  half- 
earnest,  half -jesting  tone.  "  You  make  our  whole  neighborhood 
happy.  \Ye  're  all  proud  of  you.  On  Sunday,  before  the  church, 
I  '11  tell  them  what  influence  you  have  here,  and  they  '11  all  believe 
me.  Your  mother  was  my  playfellow,  and  if  my  Thomas  had  got 
an  honest  woman  like  you  for  his  wife,  he  'd  been  thrifty,  too.  He 
must  get  himself  a  good  wife.  I  '11  give  him  no  peace  till  he  does." 

Zenza  was  enjoying  some  good  coffee  which  Mademoiselle  Kra- 
mer had  prepared  for  her,  and  the  kind-hearted  housekeeper  filled 
her  cup  again  and  again. 

"  If  I  could  only  give  my  son  some  of  this  !  O  how  he  must  be 
suffering  out  there  !  But  it  serves  him  right ;  that 's  his  punish- 
ment. He  's  on  the  lookout  now,  but  not  as  a  poacher.  It 's  quite 
a  different  thing,  now."  Zenza  was  quite  voluble  and  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  was  charmed  with  the  frankness  and  motherly  affection  of 
the  old  woman. 

When  Zenza  had  emptied  her  cup  and  eaten  nearly  all  the  cake, 
she  said : 

"  May  I  take  this  little  bit  of  sugar  with  me  ?  It  '11  always  remind 
me  that  I  've  drunk  coffee  in  the  king's  palace." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  wrapped  a  piece  of  cake  in  a  paper,  and 
said  :  "Take  this  to  your  son." 

It  seemed  as  thoug'h  Zenza  would  never  get  done  thanking  them. 
She  was  in  great  good  humor,  and  asked  permission  to  see  the 
prince ;  but  Walpurga  refused  it,  and  well  knew  why  ;  for,  at 
home,  Zenza  was  regarded  as  a  witch  and,  even  if  it  were  mere 
superstition,  thought  Walpurga,  who  can  know  what  might 
happen?  She  had  already  become  so  politic  that  she  availed 
herself,  as  an  excuse,  of  the'  Doctor's  order  that  no  stranger  should 
be  allowed  near  the  person  of  the  crown  prince. 

Zenza  now  told  them  how  great  a  commotion  Walpurga's  sudden 
departure  had  created  in  their  neighborhood.  Ever  since,  the  people 
would  talk  of  nothing  else.  The  folks  were  all  late  at  church  on 
Sunday,  because  they  had  stopped  before  Walpurga's  house  and 
stared  at  it  as  if  there  was  something  new  to  be  seen,  and  Hansei 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  93 

had  been  obliged  to  show  his  cow  to  half  the  congregation,  as  if 
there  was  something  strange  about  it.  But  the  thoughts  of  all 
were  of  Walpurga ;  and  she  also  said  that  it  was  well  known  that 
Walpurga's  influence  had  secured  Stasi's  betrothed  his  position  as 
ranger.  In  spite  of  Walpurga's  protestations  that  she  knew  nothing 
of  it,  Zcnza  insisted  on  her  story,  and  praised  her  the  more  for  her 
mo'iesty. 

The  time  passed  quickly. 

Countess  Irma,  her  face  radiant  with  joy,  brought  the  king's  let- 
ter of  pardon. 

Zenza  would  have  fallen  on  her  knees  to  her  and  kissed  her  feet, 
but  Irma  held  her  up  and  said  : 

"  I  've  something  more  ,for  you  :  take  this,  so  that,  besides  being 
free,  you  may  be  able  to  get  some  pleasure." 

She  gave  her  a  gold  piece. 

Old  Zenza's  eyes  sparkled,  while  she  said : 

"  If  the  gracious  princess  should  ever  want  any  one  who  'd  go 
through  fire  and  water  to  serve  her,  she  need  only  think  of  Zenza 
and  Thomas." 

She  would  have  said  much  more,  but  Walpurga  said : 

"Thomas  is  waiting  for  you  at  the  gate  ;  make  haste  and  go  to 
him." 

"  You  see,  dear  princess,  how  good  she  is.  She  deserves  to  be 
happy." 

"Walpurga,"  said  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  "you  might  give  the 
woman  the  money  for  your  husband." 

"I  '11  take  it  for  you." 

"  No,  I  '11  send  it.  I  must  wait  awhile,"  said  Walpurga,  hesita- 
ting. She  could  not  well  explain  that  she  distrusted  both  Zenza 
and  her  son. 

"  Here,"  said  Irma,  handing  Zenza  the  little  golden  heart  which 
she  wore;  "take  this  to  Walpurga's  child,  from  me."  Then,  re- 
moving her  silk  kerchief,  she  added,  "give  her  this,  too." 

"  O  what  a  lovely  neck  !  "  exclaimed  Zenza. 

Walpurga  again  reminded  her  that  she  had  better  return  to  her 
son. 

Irma  felt  happy  to  think  that  she  had  brought  about  the  pardon. 
Walpurga  was  afraid  to  tell  them  Zenza  was  a  stranger  to  her, 
and  that  she  almost  hated  her ;  or  that  Red  Thomas  was  one  oi 
the  worst  men  in  their  neighborhood.  She  consoled  herself  with 
the  thought  that  all  would  yet  be  well.  Bad  men  can  grow  better, 
or  else  all  talk  of  repentance  would  be  mere  lies  and  deceit. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Zenza,  holding  the  pardon  on  high,  had  hur- 
I'ied  out  of  the  palace. 

"Is  my  reckoning  settled ?"  asked  Thomas,  spitting  as  far  as  he 
could. 

"  Yes,  thank  God  !     See  what  a  mother  can  do." 


94  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  do  n't  owe  you  much  thanks  for  that,  what  did  you  bring  me 
into  the  world  for  ?  But  the  best  of  it  all  is,  it  's  a  slap  in  the  face 
for  the  great  snarling  country  justice.  Now,  mother,  I  'm  as 
thirsty  as  three  bailiff's  clerks.  Waiting  has  almost  used  me  up. 
Have  you  anything  more  about  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have  ;  just  look." 

She  showed  him  the  gold  piece,  which  he  most  dexterously  re- 
moved from  her  hand  and  into  his  pocket. 

"  What  else  have  you  got  ?  "  said  he,  when  he  noticed  the  little 
gold  heart  that  she  had  taken  from  her  pocket  at  the  same  tims. 

"  The  beautiful  princess  gave  me  that  and  this  silk  kerchief  f«. 
Walpurga's  child." 

"  Hansei's  child  will  have  enough  with  the  kerchief,"  s^.d 
Thomas,  appropriating  the  gold  heart,  while  he  goodnaturedly  al- 
lowed his  mother  to  retain  the  black  cord  which  had  been  at- 
tached to  it. 

"  There,  mother ;  that  '11  do  very  well,  and  now  let  's  take  a 
drink  for  having  waited  so  long." 

"  While  I  was  waiting  out  here,  I  saw  a  splendid  rifle  at  the 
gunsmith's.  You  can  take  it  apart  and  put  it  in  your  pocket,  and 
we  '11  see  if  the  greencoats  catch  me  again." 

The  first  thing  young  Thomas  did  was  to  take  the  chamois 
beard  and  the  black  cock  plume  out  of  his  pocket  and  stick  them 
in  his  hat  again.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat  in  a  defiant  manner, 
and  his  whole  bearing  seemed  to  say :  I  'd  like  to  see  who  'd  dare 
touch  them. 

Just  as  they  were  going  away,  Baum  came  in  from  the  street. 
He  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  them,  but  Zenza  went  up  to  him  and 
thanked  him  again  for  the  handsome  present  he  had  given  her 
when  Walpurga  had  been  sent  for.  She  looked  at  him  strangely, 
and  Baum,  with  a  side  glance,  noticed  that  Thomas's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him.  He  felt  a  shudder  passing,  like  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, from  his  heart  to  his  head.  It  actually  made  his  hair  stand 
on  end,  and  obliged  him  to  raise  his  hat  and  adjust  it  differently; 
but  he  took  a  nail-file  from  his  pocket  and  began  trimming  his 
nails,  and  then  said :  "  You  've  thanked  me  already ;  once  is 
enough." 

"  Mother !  if  Jangerl  was  n't  in  America,  I  'd  have  sworn  that 
was  he." 

"You  're  cr?zy,"  replied  Zenza. 

They  went  into  the  town  together.  Thomas  always  walking 
briskly  in  front.  It  seemed  as  if  it  would  not  worry  him  much, 
were  he  to  lose  his  mother. 

They  repaired  to  an  inn,  where,  without  taking  time  to  sit  down,' 
he  drank  off  a  schoppen  of  wine.  Then,  telling  his  mother  to 
vvait;  he  went  off  to  purchase  the  rifle. 

Mean.vhile,  Walpurga  was  sitting  by  the  window  and  imagining 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  95 

how  the  folks  at  home  would  be  talking  of  her  great  power,  and 
how,  at  the  Chamois,  they  would  have  so  much  to  say  about  her, 
and  that  the  innkeeper's  wife,  who  had  always  looked  down  upon 
her,  would  almost  burst  with  envy. 

Walpurga  laughed  and  was  pleased  to  think  that  the  envious 
and  proud  would  be  angry  at  her  good  fortune.  This,  indeed, 
seemed  her  greatest  delight,  and,  at  all  events,  was  the  thought  on 
which  she  dwelt  longest.  Another  reason  may  have  been  that  the 
joy  of  the  virtuous  is  more  quickly  exhausted  than  the  angry  and 
evil  speeches  of  the  wicked,  which  keep  fermenting  and -sending 
bubbles  to  the  surface  long  after  they  have  been  uttered.  Wal- 
purga remained  sitting  by  the  window,  her  lips  silently  moving,  as 
if  she  were  repeating  to  herself  the  words  of  those  who  envied 
and  were  angry  at  her,  until,  at  last,  Countess  Irma  addressed 
her: 

"  I  can  see  how  happy  you  are.  Yes,  Walpurga,  if  we  could 
only  do  good  to  some  fellow  creature  every  moment,  we  would  be 
the  happiest  beings  under  the  sun.  Do  n't  you  see,  Walpurga,  the 
real  divine  grace  of  a  prince  lies  in  his  being  able  to  do  good  at 
any  moment?  " 

"  I  understand  that  quite  well,"  answered  Walpurga.  "A  king 
is  like  the  sun  which  shines  down  on  all,  and  refreshes  the  trees 
near  by,  as  well  as  the  flowers  in  the  distant,  hidden  valley  ;  it  does 
good  to  men  and  beasts  and  everything.  Such  a  king  is  a  messen- 
ger from  God ;  but  he  must  be  careful  to  remain  one,  for,  being 
lord  over  all,  pride  and  lust  may  overpower  him.  He  's  just  given 
life  to  Thomas,  and  all  the  prison  doors  open  as  they  do  in  the 
fable  when  they  say  :  '  open  sesame'  O  you  good  king !  do  n't  let 
them  spoil  you,  and  always  have  such  kind-hearted  people  about 
you  as  my  Countess  Irma." 

"Thanks,"  said  Irma.  "I  now  know  you  perfectly.  Believe 
me,  all  the  books  in  the  world  contain  nothing  better  and  nothing 
more  than  does  your  heart;  and,  although  you  cannot  write,  it  has 
been  so  much  the  more  plainly  written  there. — But  let  us  be  quiet 
and  sensible.  Come,  you  must  take  your  writing  lesson." 

They  sat  down  together,  and  Irma  taught  Walpurga  how  to  use 
the  pen.  Walpurga  said  that  she  did  not  care  to  write  single 
letters,  and  that  she  would  prefer  having  a  word  to  copy. 

Irma  wrote  the  word  "  pardon"  for  her.  Walpurga  filled  a  whole 
sheet  with  that  word,  and  when  Irma  left  the  room,  she  took  the 
writing  with  her,  saying : 

"  I  shall  preserve  this  as  a  memento  of  this  hour." 

CHAPTER  III. 

"  "\I7HAT  can  be  the  matter  with  the  o^ueen?— " 
VV  — "Her  majesty,"  added  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 


96  O.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

— "What  can  it  be?"  said  Walpurga;  "for  some  days,  the 
prince — " 

"His  royal  highness,"  said  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

— "  Has  hardly  been  noticed  by  her.  Before  that,  whenever  she 
sa\v  the  child  and  held  it  to  her 'heart,  she  always  seemed  lifted 
up  to  the  skies,  and  once  said  to  me :  '  Walpurga,  did  n't  it  make 
you  feel  as  if  you  'd  become  a  girl  again,  free  and  independent  of 
everything?  To  me,  the  world  is  nothing  but  myself  and  my 
child — '  and  now  she  hardly  looks  at  i*,  just  as  if  her  having  had  a 
child  were  a  dream.  There  must  be  great  trouble  in  a  mother's 
heart—" 

"Royal  mother  "  said  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

— "  When  she  does  n't  care  to  look  at  her  child." 

The  queen's  heart  was,  in  truth,  torn  by  a  mighty  struggle. 
Her  feelings  had,  for  months  past,  been  of  a  most  distressing  and 
excited  nature.  There  was  one  point  on  which  she  dared  not  even 
think  aloud,  and  \vhich  she  would  have  thought  profaned  by 
speaking  of  it  to  others.  It  was  her  wish  to  determine  for  herself, 
and  she  had  done  so.  Ever  since  she  had  become  a  mother,  she 
had  felt  as  if  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  When  she 
thought  of  her  child  and,  above  all,  \yhen  she  clasped  it  to  her 
heart,  she  felt  as  if  nothing  more  remained  to  be  done.  She  and 
the  child  were  her  world ;  all  else  was  as  nothing.  And  yet  she 
loved  the  king  with  all  her  heart,  and  ardently  desired  that  their 
union  should  be  so  complete  that  they  might  be  one  in  feeling,  in 
belief,  and  in  affection. 

The  thought  that  they  ought  to  be  united  in  all  things,  con- 
stantly grew  upon  her.  Father,  mother  and  child  should  be  as  one, 
praying  to  the  same  God,  with  the  same  thoughts,  and  in  the  same 
words. 

The  isolation  of  the  sick  chamber  only  helped  to  strengthen  these 
thoughts  and,  now  that  she  was  about  to  return  to  the  world,  she 
longed  to  make  the  bond  that  united  her  to  the  king,  perfect  in  the 
highest  sense. 

She  was  allowed  to  do  but  little  talking,  and,  therefore,  did  not 
indulge  in  conversation.  After  a  few  days  had  passed,  she  had  a 
Madonna,  by  Filippo  Lippi  the  younger,  brought  to  her  dimly- 
lighted  chamber.  She  gazed  at  the  picture  for  hours,  and  it 
seemed  to  be  looking  at  her  in  return — the  two  mothers  were  one 
in  bliss. 

The  canon  visited  her  and  found  her  in  this  devotional  frame  of 
mind.  With  trembling  lips,  she  confided  to  him  her  desire  to 
belong  to  the  church  of  her  husband  and  child.  He  lent  a  ready 
assent  to  the  request  that  she  might  be  spared  all  dogmatic 
teachings.  When  the  canon  had  left,  she  became  oppressed 
with  a  sense  of  fear.  There  goes  a  man,  thought  she,  who  bears 
my  secret  with  him.  He  \  ad  promised  to  keep  it  to  himself  and 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  97 

thus  prove  himself  worthy  her  confidence.     But  the  secret  had, 
nevertheless,  ceased  to  be  entirely  her  own. 

She  soon  quieted  her  fears,  and  a  glow  of  delight  overspread  her 
features  at  the  thought  that,  although  she  was  now  a  mother, 
there  was  yet  another  sublime  and  exalted  function  which  would 
perfect  her  union  with  her  husband  and  furnish  one  more  proof 
of  her  great  love  for  him. 

In  the  fullness  of  life,  the  thought  of  death  occurred  to  her,  ami 
she  ordered  another  painting  to  be  placed  on  the  easel  before  her. 
It  was  the  Maria  ^Egyptica,  by  Ribera. 

The  queen  often  felt  as  if  she  must  seek  the  glance  of  the  peni- 
tent. But  those  eyes,  instead  of  beholding  aught,  seem  as  if 
listening;  not  in  alarm,  for  an  angel  is  calling  to  her — but  sub- 
missive and  trustful,  for  she  is  used  to  the  sound  of  heavenly 
voices.  Instead  of  representing  the  penitent  daughter  of  the  king 
as  crushed  and  bruised  from  having  mortified  the  flesh,  the  artist 
has  made  her  features  expressive  of  restored,  childlike  innocence 
and  youthful  beauty — a  nude  figure,  divested  of  all  raiment, 
wrapped  in  the  long,  fair  tresses  that  descend  to  her  knees.  She  is 
kneeling  beside  the  open  grave  that  is  to  receive  her.  Her  blue 
eyes  gaze  into  eternity;  her  lips  are  closed,  as  if  in  pain,  and 
above  her  hovers  an  angel  who  spreads  the  mantle  of  mercy  over 
her  and  exclaims :  "  Thou  art  forgiven !  "  Forgiven  and  redeemed, 
she  sinks  into  the  grave. 

The  ascetic  tone  of  the  picture  fully  accorded  with  the  queen's 
mood,  and  the  canon  often  found  her  lost  in  ecstatic  admiration  of 
it. 

Although  Doctor  Gunther  disapproved  of  this  mute  companion 
ship,  his  wishes  and  his  orders  were  alike  unavailing.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  this  man,  who  was  so  highly  esteemed  by  the 
queen,  had  encountered  obstinacy  and  unyielding  defiance  at  her 
hands.  When  Irma  saw  the  picture,  she  carelessly  remarked  that 
the  position  of  the  eyes  was  faulty,  but  that  the  artist  had  skil- 
fully availed  himself  of  this  fault  in  order  to  produce  a  peculiar 
expression.  The  queen  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart — she  was 
alone  in  her  feelings  and  wished  to  remain  so. 

Walpurga  was  successful  where  both  Gunther  and  Irma  had 
failed. 

"Is  that  a  forest-sprite ? "  asked  she. 

"What's  that?" 

"  Out  our  way,  they  tell  of  the  forest-sprites.  They  haunt  the 
mountains  on  ghost-nights,  and  can  wrap  themselves  in  their  long 
hair." 

The  queen  related  the  legend  of  Maria  vEgyptica  to  Walpurga. 

She  was  a  princess  who  had  led  a  dissolute  life.     Suddenly,  she 

It  ft  the  palace  and,  renouncing  all  pleasures,  went  out  into  the 

desert,  where  she  supported  herself  on  roots  and  lived  many  years, 

5 


98  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

until  all  her  clothes  fell  from  her  body ;  and,  when  her  dying  hour 
arrived,  an  angel  descended  from  above  and  spread  the  mantle  of 
mercy  over  her — 

"That  's  all  very  good  and  pretty,"  said  Walpurga,  "but,  no 
offense  to  you,  my  queen,  it  seems  a  sin  to  have  such  a  terrible 
picture  before  one's  eyes.  I  would  n't  want  to  sleep  in  the  same 
room  with  it.  It  seems  as  if  some  night  it  would  come  down  and 
drag  me  into  the  open  gjave  with  it.  O  dear  Lord  !  I  'm  afraid 
of  it,  even  in  broad  daylight." 

Walpurga's  words  were  not  without  effect.  When  night  came, 
the  queen  really  imagined  that  the  picture  was  coming  towards 
her.  She  could  not  sleep,  and  was  obliged  to  have  it  removed 
during  the  night. 

Her  calmness  and  equanimity  were  thus  restored,  and,  as  read- 
ing \vas  now  permitted  her,  the  priest  provided  her  with  suitable 
books. 

Her  whole  life  was  possessed  by  the  one  idea.  Walpurga  had 
observed  correctly.  The  queen  scarcely  looked  at  her  child,  al- 
though the  step  she  contemplated  taking  was  prompted  by  love  for 
her  husband  and  her  child. 

A  few  days  before  she  went  out  for  the  first  time,  she  sent  for 
the  king,  and  said  : 

"  Kurt,  next  Sunday  will  be  the  first  time  that  I  go  out,  and  the 
first  day  that  I  enter  your  church,  and  that  of  our  son.  Hence- 
forth, I  shall  pray  at  the  same  altar  with  you  and  him." 

"  I  do  n't  understand  you — " 

"  I  have  vowed  that  if  God,  in  his  mercy,  would  preserve  my 
life  and  that  of  the  child,  I  would  be  united  with  you  in  all  things. 
I  am  not  fulfilling  an  enforced  vow,  but  a  free  and  well-considered 
resolution.  I  offer  this,  not  as  a  new  proof,  but  rather  as  a 
confirmation  or  final  sealing  of  our  love.  Kurt,  my  every  thought, 
all  that  I  am,  is  yours.  We  are  as  one  before  the  world ;  let  us  be 
as  one  before  God.  Henceforth,  we  will  not  take  separate  ways, 
or  have  separate  thoughts.  Let  our  child  learn  nothing  of  the  dif- 
ferences between  men,  and,  above  all,  between  those  to  whom  he 
owes  his  life.  I  feel  happy  that  I  can  do  this  as  a  free  offering  and 
not  as  a  sacrifice." 

"Mathilde,"  said  the  king,  with  a  strangely  cold  tone,  "is  this 
the  first  time  you  speak  of  this,  or  have  you  already  made  prepara- 
tions— " 

"  My  resolution  was  formed  in  secret,  and  in  all  earnestness. 
Afterward,  I  announced  it  and  all  is  now  in  readiness.  I  had  in- 
tended it  as  a  surprise  for  you.  The  canon  almost  insisted  that  I 
must  tell  you  of  it  in  his  presence,  but  I  would  n't  consent." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  said  the  king,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "all  ma) 
again  be  well !  " 

"  '  Again  ?  '     '  Well  ? '"  enquired  the  queen  in  amazement. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  99 

The  king  calmly  explained  to  her  that,  although  hi  appreciated 
the  sacrifice,  he  could  not  accept  it. 

The  queen  deprecated  his  terming  it  a  sacrifice,  and  the  king 
said : 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  you  need  go  no  further  than  myself,  who  of 
all  beings  am  most  in  accord  with  you,  to  discover  that  others 
may, — nay,  must — judge  of  your  actions  differently  from  yourself. 
What  will  the  world,  the  courts,  our  subjects,  think  of  it?  " 

"What  need  we  care  about  that,  when  we  know  that  we  nfre 
right  ?  '  What  will  the  world  say  ?  '  is  always  the  great  question. 
But  the  world  must  not  force  us  to  be  different  from  what  we  are." 

"  Mathilde,  you  speak  like  a  martyr.  Your  feelings  are  exalted 
and  worthy  of  all  reverence.  You  are  both  good  and  noble  ;  but, 
believe  me,  the  best  actions,  indeed,  the  only  proper  ones,  are 
those  which  require  neither  explanation  nor  apology.  We  are  not 
hermits.  Although  your  motives  are  pure  and  lofty,  the  world  will 
be  unable  and  unwilling  to  understand  them.  Nor  dare  we  make 
explanations.  A  prince  degrades  himself  by  stooping  to  explain 
his  actions.  You  regard  the  world  with  heavenly  .feelings ;  but 
the  heaven  lies  in  your  way  of  looking  at  things,  not  in  the  world 
itself.  I  should  be  sorry  to  reveal  the  world's  wickedness  to  you, 
and  thus  cast  a  gloom  over  your  kindly  views  of  life.  Hold  fast  to 
your  belief  in  the  Highest,  but  do  it  after  the  forms  of  your  own 
faith." 

"  And  must  I,  all  my  life,  walk  in  one  path,  while  you  and  the 
child  take  another?" 

"  Mathilde,  we  are  not  anchorites  ;  we  are  not  even  private  citi- 
zens. Our  position  is  an  exposed  one.  A  sovereign  can  have  no 
private  actions — " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  all  we  do  is  to  be  as  an  example  to  others  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  too,"  said  the  king,  hesitating ;  "  but  what  I 
meant  to  say  was,  that,  in  whatever  you  do,  it  is  not  yourself  alone, 
but  the  queen  who  acts.  Its  effects  are  felt  far  and  near.  I  am 
happy  to  be  the  object  of  so  much  love.  You  feel  it,  do  you  not, 
Mathilde?" 

"  Do  n't  speak  of  it.  Our  best  and  deepest  feelings  c  o  not  seek 
expression  in  words." 

"  Bear  this  well  in  mind — the  wife  of  a  private  gentleman  can 
perform  such  an  action  in  secret.  You  cannot.  You  would  be 
obliged  to  close  the  Protestant  court  chapel,  and  would  thus  offend 
all  throughout  the  land  who  hold  your  present  faith." 

;<  I  do  n't  wish  to  offend  any  one.  The  world  can't  ask  me  to 
make  such  a  sacrifice.  My  highest,  my  only  aim,  is  to  be  one  with 
you,  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  now  and  hereafter." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  promise  me  one  thing." 

"Whatever  you  wish." 

"Promise  me  that  you  will  defer  acting  on  your  resolve,  for  ai 


loo  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

least  a  month.  It  would  be  wrong  to  allow  a  passing  mood  to 
change  the  course  of  one's  life." 

"You  're  a  noble  creature,"  said  the  queen  ;  " I  '11  obey  you." 

"  So  you  give  up  your  resolve  ?  " 

"No,  I  shall  wait.  I  do  n't  wish  it  to  be  what  you  imagine  it—- 
the outgrowth  of  a  sickly  mood,  engendered  by  the  seclusion  of 
my  chamber.  I  '11  allow"  it  to  ripen  in  the  sunlight,  and  you  will 
then  discover  that  it  is  something  more  than  a  mere  mood." 

The  king  was  satisfied  with  the  result.  But,  strangely  enough, 
lie  refrained  from  any  display  of  affection,  and  when,  at  parting, 
he  took  the  queen's  hand  in  his,  his  manner  seemed  cold  and 
distant. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  king  had  shown  great  self-control  while  conversing  with 
his  wife,  and,  now  that  he  was  alone,  felt  that  her  words  had 
aroused  a  dormant  feeling  of  displeasure. 

He  sincerely  loved  his  wife,  but  he  was  of  an  heroic,  active 
temperament,  and  all  that  savored  of  pettiness,  self-questioning 
or  sentimentality,  was  utterly  distasteful  to  him.  His  great 
ambition  was  to  promote  the  happiness  of  his  subjects,  and  to 
achieve  for  himself  a  place  in  history.  But  a  period  of  peaceful 
development,  in  which  all  were  friendly  to  the  government  and 
anxious  to  serve  it,  afforded  no  opportunity  for  heroic  deeds,  or  for 
new  and  startling  measures.  All  that  could  be  done  was  to  hold 
fast  to  what  had  already  been  achieved  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
encourage  new  growths.  But  such  labors  absorb  the  work  of 
many  whose  names  remain  unknown  to  fame,  and  it  was  this  that 
explained  the  king's  fondness  for  building.  The  construction  of 
great  edifices  devoted  to  art,  science,  the  church  and  the  army, 
could  not  but  be  regarded  as  proofs  of  a  mind  anxious  to  achieve 
great  deeds. 

The  king  loved  his  wife,  and  was  content  to  have  it  so.  The 
queen,  on  the  other  hand,  was  ever  anxious  to  furnish  new  proofs 
of  her  love,  and  her  deep  sensibility  was  again  displayed  in  this  at- 
tempt to  carry  out  a  resolve  which,  although  prompted  by  the  best 
motives,  was  utterly  impracticable.  She  idealized  everything,  and, 
in  that  respect,  the  king's  temperament  was  the  very  opposite  of 
hers.  Her  apartments  were  always  so  dimly  lighted  that,  when  he 
entered  them,  he  was  obliged  to  grope  his  way.  On  emerging 
from  this  gloom,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  morn  had  dawned  anew, 
for  he  dearly  loved  the  bright  light  of  day.  This  continual  worry- 
ing about  religious  problems  that  none  can  solve — this  constant 
mental  excitement,  incapacitates  one  for  prompt  action.  He  who 
desires  to  have  his  life-fabric  rest  on  a  firm  foundation,  must  be 
free  from  over-refined  self-criticism.  He  must  subordinate  all  his 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  '  101 


feeling's,  all  his  passions,  to  the  one, aim.- and  to  no  one  does -ibis  sxy 
forcibly  apply  as  to  the  monarch  who  desires  to  direct  the  'diversi- 
fied and  all-embracing  interests  of  his  subjects. 

The  queen's  aim  was  to  realize,  in  her  own  person,  her  ideal  of 
the  wife  and  the  mother ;  but  then  she  had  no  right  to  forget  that 
she  was  a  queen.  Something  more  was  required  than  eternal 
trifling  and  weaving  of  garlands,  ingeniously  devised  as  they  might 
be.  Love,  such  as  hers,  is  exacting  withal,  for,  while  it  lavishes  en  • 
dearments,  it  constantly  requires  a  return  in  kind.  It  is  exclusive 
and,  at  the  same  time,  wearisome.  The  sun  shines  and  love  exists, 
but  why  constantly  worry  about  either. 

The  lonely  life  the  queen  had  been  leading  had  produced  an  ex- 
cited condition  that  sought  vent  in  the  attempt  to  change  her  faith, 
and,  although  the  king  had  determined  that  it  should  be  nothing 
more  than  an  attempt,  her  words  had  tended  to  confirm  a  corre- 
sponding feeling  of  loneliness  on  his  part — a  result  to  which  his 
recent  experience  had  in  no  slight  degree  contributed. 

The  king  was  alone  in  his  cabinet.  How  would  it  have  stood 
with  him,  if  his  wife  had  possessed  a  great  and  commanding 
mind  ?  The  thought  had  suddenly  flashed  upon  him.  He  passed 
his  hand  across  his  brow,  as  if  to  banish  the  idea ;  he  dared  not, 
could  not  think  of  such  a  thing.  He  sent  for  Doctor  Gunther,  for 
this  affair  must  be  disposed  of  at  once. 

Gunther  came. 

The  king,  at  first,  cautiously  sounded  him,  in  order  to  discover 
whether  this  confidant  of  the  queen's  knew  aught  of  what  had 
happened,  and  then,  under  the  seal  of  secrecy,  informed  him  of 
all. 

To  the  king's  great  surprise,  Gunther,  instead  of  thanking  him 
for  this  mark  of  confidence,  politely  said  : 

"I  should  much  prefer  that  Your  Majesty  had  graciously  per- 
mitted me  to  remain  ignorant  of  secrets  and  troubles  in  which  I 
can  be  of  no  assistance." 

The  king  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  This  man  was  always 
obstinate  and  always  preserved  his  dignity. 

"I  was  about  to  ask  you,"  said  the  king,  harshly,  "whether 
you  believe  that  you  can  influence  the  queen  in  this  matter." 

"  I  fear  not ;  but  if  Your  Majesty  desires  it,  I  am  ready  to  make 
the  effort." 

"  Pray  do." 

"But  I  fear  her  majesty  will  be  offended.  I  understand  her 
idiosyncrasies.  If  the  matter  is  noised  about,  she  will  thin.'t  it 
profaned  by  the  touch  of  others,  and  it  will  thus,  in  he,r  opinion* 
lose  its  greatest  charm." 

"  That  would  be  the  very  thing,"  said  the  king,  eagerly.  "  Per 
haps  that  will  be  the  best  way  to  cure  her  of  her  enthusiasm. 
Everything  is  considered  a  fit  subject  for  debate,  nowadays.  Your 


102  .cry  THE  HEIGHTS. 

•friends  .iti  rhe  chamber  £>f  delegates  debate  even-thing,  and  th?y 
might  as  well — " 

It  was  a  constant  source  of  annoyance  to  ihe  king,  that  the 
Doctor,  who  never  obtruded  his  opinions,  would,  when  drawn  into. 
an  argument  on  questions  of  religion  or  politics,  always  espouse 
the  liberal  side  ;  but,  with  all  that,  he  could  ill  afford  to  do  without 
Gunther.  Although  the  king  found  him  objectionable  in  some  re- 
spects, he  nevertheless  had  a  high  regard  for  him.  He  held  so 
high  a  position  in  the  world  of  science  and  in  the  esteem  of  his 
countrymen,  that  the  presence,  near  the  king,  of  one  possessed  of 
such  liberal  views,  reflected  peculiar  glory  on  the  court  itself. 

The  king  now  formally  requested  Gunther  to  endeavor  to  move 
the  queen  from  her  resolve. 
It  was  a  difficult  undertaking. 

The  queen  had,  heretofore,  made  this  trusted  friend  her  confidant, 
and  now  he  was  possessed  of  a  secret  of  hers  that  had  been  given 
him  by  another.  Gunther  endeavored  to  draw  the  queen  into  some 
allusion  to  her  secret  resolve,  but,  failing  in  the  attempt,  was 
obliged  to  introduce  the  subject  himself. 
The  queen  seemed  surprised  and  grieved. 

"Why  has  the  king  done  this?  "asked  she,  her  features  ex- 
pressing intense  pain. 

"Perhaps  his  majesty,"  replied  Gunther,  "credits  me  with  the 
possession  of  more  powerful  arguments  that  any  which  have  yet 
been  advanced." 

"I  know  them,  all,"  answered  the  queen,  excitedly;  "in  such  a 
matter,  no  stranger  should  dare  to  breath  a  word  of — " 

"  Then,  Your  Majesty,  I  Ve  nothing  more  to  say,  and  humbly 
Deg  leave  to  withdraw." 

14  Xo,  no  !     Speak  on — I  must  hear  you." 
"  Must  ?     You  must  not." 

"  Wish,  or  must,  it 's  all  the  same.  You  're  always  saying  that 
there  's  no  such  thing  as  free  will,  and  with  monarchs  it  is  cer- 
tainly so." 

"Your  Majesty,"  said  Gunther,  in  a  gentle  voice,  "the  high 
resolve  you  have  formed  was  not  an  act  of  your  will.  It  is  the 
natural  and  inevitable  consequence  of  a  chain  of  events  and  im- 
pressions, which  have  been  shaped  by  your  temperament.  Fervent 
natures  are  always  afraid  lest  they  cannot  do  enough  for  them- 
selves and  for  the  world.  They  would  like,  with  every  hour — nay, 
with  every  breath — to  make  others  happy,  or  impress  the  world 
with  some  great  thought." 
"  So  you,,  too,  can  flatter." 

"I  never  flatter.     1  simply  take  the  diagnosis  which,  in  your 
case,  is  not  flattering.     This  excess  of  sensibility  is  not  health — " 
"  So  you  consider  my  mood  as  unhealthy — 
"  We   should   not  use  that   term. — But    I   entreat  you,    Your 
Majesty  !  this  tone,  with  either  of  us,  is  hardly — 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  103 

"  Speak  on.  I  like  to  hear  you.  I  do  n't  feel  hurt  that  you  know 
of  this.  I  regard  you  as  part  of  the  daylight  that  was  to  ripen  my 
resolve." 

"  Well  then,  all  that  is  to  ripen  must  needs  be  subjected  to  cur- 
rents of  air  and  even  to  storms.  But  I  shall  bring  you  no  storrr, 
and  shall  not  even  speak  of  the  fact  that  whoever  deserts  the  faith 
into  which  he  was  born,  insults  his  parents  ;  nor  shall  I  tell  you 
that  the  ceremonies  to  which  we  have  been  accustomed  frorr 
youth,  are  the  soul's  mother-tongue.  All  that  does  not  address  it- 
self to  the  mind.  Mind  and  reason  are  the  parents  of  conscious 
man.  It  is  our  duty  to  live  up  to  our  convictions,  and  I  can,  there- 
fore, find  no  fault  with  a  change  of  religion  based  upon  conviction. 
But  it  seems  to  me,  Your  Majesty,  that  your  change  of  faith  is 
simply  superficial  or,  if  it  be  deeper,  only  from  love  for  your  hus- 
band. You  know,  however,  that  I  view  all  these  things  from  an 
entirely  different  standpoint.  I  believe  I  know  the  spring  in  para- 
dise, whence  flows  the  stream  that  on  earth  is  divided  into  so 
many  little  rivulets  ;  and  these  again,  to  use  the  words  of  my  friend 
Eberhard,  Countess  Irma's  father,  furnish  the  power  for  the  mills 
that  grind  out  sermons.  Your  Majesty  knows  that  the  legend  of 
the  four  streams  that  flowed  from  the  tree  Igdrasil,  which  is  found 
in  the  most  beautiful  of  all  books,  the  Bible,  is  also  to  be  found  in 
our  old  German  Saga." 

"  Very  well — but,  I  beg  'of  you,  my  dear  friend,  spare  me  your 
literary  curiosities." 

"Your  Majesty,"  resumed  Gunther,  "as  long  as  we  remain  in 
the  faith  of  our  fathers,  we  can  enjoy  great  latitude  of  opinion. 
Our  thoughts  can  reach  far  beyond  its  confines,  and  no  inquisition 
has  power  over  us  :  but,  as  soon  as  we  profess  another  religion, 
we  forfeit  the  right  to  be  free.  It  is  our  duty  to  live  up  to  it.  One 
who  is  noble  by  birth  can  afford  to  admit  civil  equality,  but  he 
who  has  had  nobility  conferred  on  him,  cannot  do  so.  Will 
Your  Majesty  permit  me  to  say  one  word  more  ?  I  regard  it  as 
fortunate  for  mankind  in  general,  and  our  German  fatherland  in 
particular,  that  there  is  a  diversity  of  religious  beliefs.  That  of 
itself  tends  to  preserve  feelings  of  humanity,  for  thus  we  cannot 
help  seeing  that  there  are  different  forms  of  soul  utterances  for  one 
and  the  same  thing.  A  multiplicity  of  sects  affords  the  best 
protection  against  fanaticism  and,  moreover,  helps  to  prove  that 
religious  forms  are  of  no  consequence  ;  that  is,  one  can  be  righteous 
in  any  faith  and,  indeed,  without  any  outward  show  of  religion." 

Gunther  remained  with  the  queen  for  a  long  while,  offering 
further  explanations  of  the  ideas  he  had  advanced. 

He  was  still  with  her,  when  the  canon  was  announced. 

The  queen  sent  word  that  she  desired  to  be  excused,  and. 
requested  him  to  come  the  next  day. 

When  Gunther  left,  she  was  still  as  firm  in  her  resolve  as  a* 


104  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

first.     She  felt  persuaded  that  this  was  an  action  in  which  no  olhei 
being  should  interfere  and,  least  of  all,  a  man. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  taking  Irma  into  her  confidence.  She 
felt  that  the  Countess  was  clever  and,  moreover,  a  true  friend. 
Unconquerable  dread  held  her  back.  She  feared  lest  she  might 
appear  weak  and  vacillating  in  Irma's  eyes. 

CHAPTER  V. 

F'OR  days,  the  queen  remained  alone.  Walpurga  and  the  chfid 
were  the  only  ones  permitted  near  her.  She  did  not  wish  to 
speak  to  any  one  else,  be  it  her  husband,  Gunther,  or  the  priest. 

One  afternoon,  when  Walpurga  was  with  her,  she  felt  impelled 
to  ask : 

"  Walpurga,  do  you  know  that  I  do  n't  belong  to  your  faith  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  do ;  and  I  'm  glad  of  it." 

"Glad  of  it?" 

"  Of  course  I  am  ;  you  're  the  first  and  only  Lutheran  I  've  ever 
known,  and  if  they  're  all  like  you,  it  must  be  a  beautiful  religion." 

"  It  is  beautiful,  and  so  are  all  religions  that  make  good  beings 
of  us." 

"  Why,  do  you  know,  queen,  that 's  the  very  thing  my  father 
used  to  say,  and  in  the  very  same  words  ?  O,  if  he  'd  only  lived 
long  enough  to  have  had  a  talk  with  you." 

The  queen  was  silent  for  a  long  while. 

At  last  she  asked  : 

"Walpurga,  if  your  religion  was  different  from  Hansei's,  would 
you  go  to  his  church  ?  " 

"  Why,  Hansei  's  Catholic,  as  well  as  I  am." 

"  But  if  it  were  otherwise  ?  " 

"But  it  is  n't  otherwise." 

"  But  just  imagine  it  were." 

"But  I  can't  do  that,"  said  she,  as  if  about  to  cry. 

The  queen  was  again  silent  for  some  time.  Presently  Walpurga, 
of  her  own  accord,  said  : 

"  Yes,  I  can,  after  all.  I  Ve  thought  it  out.  Why  you  're 
Lutheran  and  your  husband  's  Catholic.  But  why  do  you  ask 
me  that  ?  " 

"  Imagine  yourself  in  my  position.  If  you  were  a  Protestant, 
would  you  not  visit  your  husband's  church  ?  " 

"  No,  queen,  never  !  As  long  as  I  'd  been  an  honest  wife  while 
a  Protestant,  I  'd  remain  one.  May  I  tell  you  a  little  story, 
queen  ?  "  j 

"  Yes  ;  go  on." 

"  What  was  I  going  to  say  ? — Yes,  now  I  know. — You  see,  my 
dear  father — the  king's  physician  has  surely  told  you  what  a  good 
man  he  was —  But  I  'm  beginning  at  the  wrong  end  ;  I  wanted  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  105 

tell  it  to  you  differently. — Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  I  went  to 
school  to  a  very  strict  priest  who  condemned  all  people  th  it  did  n't 
belong  to  our  faith,  to  the  lowest  depths  of  hell.  I  was  once 
telling  my  father  about  it,  when  he  said:  'Purgei,' — he  always 
called  me  Purgei  when  he  wanted  to  speak  right  to  m-y  heart — 
'  Purgei,'  said  he,  'there  are  many  millions  of  people  in  the  world, 
and  the  smallest  portion  of  them  are  Christians,  and  what  a  vile 
God  it  would  be  who  would  condemn  all  the  rest  to  hell  just 
because  they  are  n't  Christians,  when  they  can't  help  it,  and  were 
born  as  they  are.  Don't  you  believe,'  said  he,  'that  a  man's 
damned  for  his  faith,  as  long  as  he  's  virtuous.'  Well,  I  hold  fast 
by  that.  Of  course,  I  did  n't  say  anything  to  the  priest  about  it, 
for  he  need  n't  know  everything.  I  'm  sure  he  do  n't  tell  me  all  he 
knows." 

The  queen  was  siler.t,  and  Walpurga  soon  began  again : 

"  And  now  I  think  of  something,  better  than  all.  O,  my  dear 
queen,  I  must  tell  you  this,  too.  It 's  about  my  father,  who  used  to 
think  a  great  deal.  The  old  doctor,  the  father  of  the  one  who  's  liv- 
ing there  now,  often  used  to  say  that  if  father  had  studied,  he  'd 
have  become  a  great  man.  Well,  one  evening,  on  the  very  Sunday 
that  I  was  confirmed,  I  was  sitting  with  father  and  mother  on  the 
bench  behind  our  little  cottage  by  the  lake.  The  evening  bells 
were  tolling ;  we  had  said  our  aves  and  were  sitting  about  in  front 
of  the  cottage,  when  we  heard  the  Liederkranz.  They  were  coming 
across  the  lake  in  a  boat,  and  were  singing  so  beautifully — I  can't 
tell  you  how  lovely  their  singing  was.  And  then  father  got  up 
from  his  seat,  his  face  glowing  in  the  sunshine,  and  said :  '  now  I 
know  how  our  Lord  in  heaven  must  feel.'  'Don't  blaspheme,' 
said  my  mother.  '  I  'm  not  blaspheming ;  quite  the  reverse/  said 
father.  His  voice  seemed  wondrous  strange.  'Yes,  I  know  it,  I 
feel  it, 'said  he  ;  '  all  churches — our  own,  the  Protestant,  the  Jewish, 
the  Turkish,  and  whatever  their  names  may  be — every  one  of  them 
has  a  part  in  the  song,  and  though  each  sings  as  best  he  can,  they 
go  together  very  well,  and  make  a  chorus  that  must  sound  glori- 
ous up  there  in  heaven.  Let  every  one  sing  according  to  the 
voice  God  has  given  him,  for  He  will  know  how  if  will  harmonize, 
and  it  surely  does  harmonize  beautifully.'  " 

Walpurga's  beaming  glance  met  that  of  the  queen. 

"  Your  father  spoke  wisely,"  said  the  queen  ;  a  tear  glistened  in 
her  eye  and  in  that  of  the  nurse,  too. 

Walpurga  went  away,  taking  the  child  with  her. 

The  next  day  the  queen  sent  for  the  king,  and  said : 
'  Kurt,  I  have  courage." 
I  know  it." 

No.     I  have  a  courage  that  you  do  not  know." 
'A  courage  that  I  do  not  know?" 
And  never  will  know.     I  have  courage  enough  to  appear  weak 


io6  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and  vacillating;  but,  Kurt,  you  will  not  misjudge  me  on  that  ac- 
count ?  " 

"Pray  speak  more  plainly,  and  with  fewer  preliminaries." 

"  I  am  determined,"  continued  the  queen,  •'  1  hardly  dare  utter 
that  word,  now — but  you  will  not  misjudge  me  ?  I  shall  remain  ir 
the  faith  in  which  I  was  born,  and  we  shall  nevertheless  be  as  one." 

The  king  thanked  her  quite  cordially,  and  only  regretted  thit 
the  canon  knew  of  the  matter.  He  hoped,  however,  to  be  able  to 
silence  his  tongue. 

The  queen  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  manifested  so  little  joy ; 
but,  on  second  thought,  this  seemed  quite  natural  to  her,  for  why 
should  that  which  had  been  nothing  more  than  a  passing  cloud, 
leave  great  results  in  its  wake  ?  Others  could  know  nothing  of  the 
bitter  struggle  it  had  cost  her. 

She  felt  sensible  that  it  would  be  a  long  while  before  any  ex- 
pression or  resolve  of  hers  would  obtain  weight  or  authority,  for  it 
would  not  soon  be  forgotten  that  she  had  once  shown  herself  weak. 

While  she  was  in  the  Protestant  court  chapel,  on  the  following 
Sunday,  she  scarcely  ventured  to  raise  her  eyes.  She  was  think- 
ing of  how  it  would  have  been  if  she  now  were  in  the  other  church, 
and  of  how  the  eyes  of  the  congregation  would  have  been  directed 
to  the  pew  that  was  thenceforward  to  remain  vacant.  In  spirit, 
she  had  already  deserted  this  church  and  its  congregation.  Her 
soul  trembled  when  she  thought  of  the  resolve  she  had  entertained, 
and,  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  she  thanked  her  husband,  whose 
strong  arm  had  held  her  back. 

When  the  whole  congregation  arose  and,  in  the  prayers  for  the 
royal  household,  offered  up  thanks  for  her  preservation  and  that  of 
the  royal  prince,  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her  tears. 

Contrary  to  her  usual  habit,  she  went  to  church  again  that  after- 
noon. 

Meanwhile,  the  king  and  Countess  Irma  were  pleasantly  saunter- 
ing in  that  portion  of  the  park  from  which  the  public  was  shut  out. 

The  king  informed  Irma  of  the  queen's  resolve  and  of  how  she 
had  been  induced  to  give  it  up.  Irma  replied  that  she  had,  long 
since,  surmised  ^.s  much,  but  had  not  felt  that  she  had  a  right  to 
speak  c-f  it.  She  had  dropped  a  hint  to  Doctor  Gunther,  who  had 
refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  matter. 

The  king  expressed  his  dislike  for  Gunther, .but  Irma  defended 
him  with  great  enthusiasm. 

"The  Doctor  is  very  fortunate,"  said  the  king,  "to  have  so  elo- 
quent an  advocate  in  his  absence." 

"  I  am  that  to  all  friends  whom  I  truly  respect." 

"I  could  wish  that  I,  too,  were  accused,"  continued  the  king. 

"And  I  believe,"  replied  Irma,  smiling,  "Your  Majesty  could 
not  wish  for  a  more  earnest  advocate  than  I  would  be." 

A  pause  ensued.     The  king  gracefully  and  frankly  retracted  his 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  107 

complaints  against  Gunther,  and  this  conversation  seemed  merely 
a  bridge  over  which  they  passed  to  another  topic. 

The  king  spoke  of  the  queen  and  of  her  peculiar  temperament. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  king  and  Irma  had  spoken  of  the 
queen.  That  the  king  not  only  prompted,  but  actually  called 
forth  her  remarks,  was  the  cause,  at  a  later  day,  of  incalculable 
suffering'. 

They  extolled  the  poetic  sense,  the  fervent  feeling,  the  flower-like 
tenderness  of  the  queen,  and  while  they  thus  depicted  her  in  glow- 
ing colors,  they,  in  their  own  minds,  found  fault  with  her  weakness 
and  overflowing  enthusiasm. 

When  a  husband  thus  speaks  of  his  wife,  to  a  third  person,  it 
inevitably  leads  to  estrangement  and  exposure. 

Thus  far,  all  was  veiled  in  terms  of  praise.  It  was  here  just  as 
it  was  with  the  queen  in  church.  With  all  the  power  of  her  will, 
she  strove  to  forget  herself  in  her  prayer,  and  to  be  again  as  she 
had  once  been ;  and  yet,  while  the  sense  of  the  words  she  uttered 
entered  her  soul,  she  could  not  help  being  aware  of  a  secret  numb- 
ness and  estrangement  that  seemed  to  say  to  her :  "  You  will 
never  again  be  as  you  once  were." 

While  the  king  and  Irma  were  thus  conversing,  they  appeared  to 
each  other  as  equals.  Their  views  of  life  were  in  accord,  and 
while  they  spoke  of  how  easily  one  might  yield  to  temptation,  their 
intimacy  seemed  to  them  a  proof  of  strength  rather  than  of  weak- 
ness. They  went  on,  in  perfect  step  with  each  other,  and  Irma 
no  longer  said  :  "  Let  us  return." 

The  queen,  since  she  had  again  appeared  in  society,  was,  if 
possible,  more  gracious  and  amiable  than  she  had  ever  been.  She 
placed  every  one  far  above  her.  They  had  none  of  them  been  as 
weak  and  vacillating  as  she.  She  felt  it  her  duty  to  do  good  to 
every  one,  because,  although  she  was  no  better  than  they,  she  was 
placed  far  above  them.  Her  soul  was  all  humility. 

A  few  days  later,  the  newspapers  mysteriously  hinted  that 
attempts  had  been  made  to  take  advantage  of  the  angelic  purity 
of  the  queen,  in  order  to  estrange  her  from  herself  and  alienate 
the  affections  of  the  people  from  her. 

This,  it  was  readily  understood,  alluded  to  the  queen's  con- 
templated change  of  faith. 

The  queen  had  always  openly  acknowledged  herself  on  the  side 
of  the  liberal  opposition,  and  the  king  regarded  Gunther  as  the 
mediator  who  had  procured  her  the  goodwill  of  the  press,  and 
who,  in  doing  so,  had  not  feared  committing  an  indiscretion. 

This  i  lain  and  flagrant  perversion  of  the  truth  only  served  the 
more  to  embitter  him  against  the  press  and  the  machinations  of 
the  queen's  party  at  court.  Nevertheless,  he  dissembled  his  re- 
sentment, for  he  felt  that  he  could  well  afford  to  bide  his  time. 


io8  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

(IRMA   TO   HER   FRIEND   EMMA.) 

4  *  |  FT  me  tell  you  all  that  I  did  yesterday.  I  wanted  to  read—' 
L;  1  saw  the  letters  but  could  not  read  a  word,  for  they  all 
sec-n?ed  to  be  moving  about  the  page,  like  so  many  ants  in  an  ant- 
hill. I  wanted  to  sing,  but  no  song  was  to  my  liking.  I  wanted  to 
play,  but  even  Beethoven  seemed  strange,  and  I  lay  for  hours,  dream- 
ing I  followed  the  little  mother  and  her  son  beyond  the  moun- 
tain. The  larks  sang  my  thoughts  to  them.  They  reach  their 
home ,  and  the  wild,  daring  lad  is  tractable  once  more.  He  carols 
his  merry  song  to  his  beloved.  I  fancy  I  hear  him.  Ah,  Emma ! 
what  is  there  so  glorious  as  making  others  happy?  It  is  hard 
enough  to  be  a  human  being,  fettered  by  a  thousand  trammels,  by 
ailments,  consideration  for  others,  and  all  sorts  of  misery ;  but  to 
suffer  want  beside  !  The  very  idea  of  jails  is  a  disgrace  to  human- 
it)-.  Ah.  Emma !  how  noble!  how  like  a  revelation  from  the  great 
heart  of  the  people,  were  the  words  of  the  simple-minded  wife  of 
the  woodcutter.  I  tried  to  put  what  she  had  said  into  verse,  in- 
tending to  give  it  to  the  king  the  next  morning;  but  I  could 
not  do  it ;  nothing  satisfied  me.  Language  is  worn  out,  narrow 
coarse.  I  was  ever  thinking  of  Schiller's  words:  'When  the  soul 
speaks,  it  has  ceased  to  be  the  soul.'  I  left  my  scribbling.  I 
passed  a  restless  night.  When  the  soul's  depths  are  stirred,  it 
wanders  about  like  a  spirit,  and  can  find  no  rest  in  sleep. 

"  While  at  breakfast  this  morning,  I  informed  the  king  of  what 
Walpurga  had  said.  I  was  annoyed  to  find  that  he  did  not  undei- 
stand  more  than  half  of  it.  How  else  could  he  have  answered 
me :  •  Yes,  the  Highlanders  have  great  affection  for  their  rulers. 
Pray  tell  that  to  your  father/ 

"  The  king  observed  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  but,  adroit 
and  amiable  as  he  is,  quickly  recovered  his  good  nature  and  said  : 
•  Dear  Countess,  I  will  give  you  a  secret  title,  which  is  to  be  known 
only  by  us  two.  I  appoint  you  as  spy  on  the  popular  heart.  Seek 
and  listen,  and  whenever  you  find  anything,  you  can  always  count 
upon  unquestioning  compliance  on  my  part.  Does  it  not  seem  to 
you  that  Egeria  was  nothing  more  than  a  spy  on  the  popular 
heart  ?  At  the  altar  in  the  temple,  she  could  overhear  the  secret 
thoughts  of  the  people,  and  then  repeated  them  to  king  Numa, 
whom  they  deified  and  adored.' 

"  •  But  our  people  only  use  prescribed  prayers,'  said  I. 

" '  The  thought  is  quite  suggestive,'  replied  the  king,  and  when 
Schnabelsdorf  entered  shortly  afterward,  he  commissioned  him  to 
/nake  brief  notes  of  what  fixed  prayers  the  Grecians  and  Romans 
used  in  their  temples. 

"  And  thus  thf  whole  story  ended.     What  I  had  imagined  would 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  109 

create  a  deep  impression,  merely  served  to  furnish  amusement  for 
an  evening. 

"  Ah,  dear  Emma,  amusement  is  the  point  about  which  all  re- 
volves. If  an  apostle  were  to  appear  to-day,  he  could  not  help 
preaching,  'Ask  not,  how  shall  we  amuse  ourselves  to-day,  but' 
-  etc.,  etc., — finish  the  sentence  for  yourself. 

"  I  am  no  better  than  the  rest  of  them.  I,  too,  am  nothing  but 
a  puppet,  wound  up  to  run  seventy  years,  and  to  dance  and  luugh 
and  ride  and  amuse  itself  in  the  meanwhile.  All  of  us  are  mere 
singing-birds ;  the  only  difference  being  that  some  are  contented 
with  grain  and  caterpillars  and  flies,  while  others  require  larger 
morsels,  such  as  rabbits,  bucks,  deer,  pheasants,  fish.  And  the 
higher  education  of  that  variety  of  singing-birds  known  as  man, 
lies  in  the  fact  that  he  cooks  his  food.  There  is  terrible  vacuity  in 
many  men.  To  make  conversation.  Therein  lies  the  whole  art. 
Try  to  get  a  clear  notion  of  the  expression  :  to  make  conversation, 
and  you  will  find  how  nonsensical  it  is.  The  people  find  me  enter- 
taining, but  I  do  n't  make  conversation.  I  merely  speak  when  I 
have  somewhat  to  say. 

"My  evil  spirit  is  constantly  shouting  the  word  • dilettante'  in 
my  ear. 

" '  Dilettante — One  who  junkets  or  feeds  on  tit-bits  for  pas- 
time/— says  my  dictionary.  Rather  rough,  but  there  is  something 
in  it." 

"  One  day  later. 

"The  king  has  just  sent  me  the  following  poem.  I  must  apolo- 
gize to  him ;  he  seems  to  have  understood  my  communication  far 
better  than  I  had  suspected.  What  do  you  think  of  the  lines? 
Why  should  a  king  not  write  verses?  Ideality  is  required  of  him. 
Indeed  a  king  should  understand  all  things,  but  be  a  dilettante  in 
none. 

"  P.  S. — I  have  just  looked  at  the  lines  again,  and  find  that  I 
cannot  copy  them  for  you." 

"  A  day  later. 

"  Do  n't  laugh  at  my  continually  telling  you  of  W7alpurga. 

"  It  was  during  our  writing  lesson  to-day,  that  the  king  found 
me  with  her.  He  told  her  how  much  pleasure  it  had  afforded  him 
to  be  able  to  pardon  her  relative. 

"  '  Our  relationship  is  very  distant,'  said  she,  '  nothing  more  than 
forty-second  cousins  ;  and,  Your  Majesty,  I  've  something  on  my 
mind.  If  Red  Thomas  turns  out  badly,  I  can't  help  it.' 

•'  The  king  laughed  and  replied  :  '  Nor  can  I.'  It  is  h  ird  to  un- 
derstand how  Walpurga  never  speaks  of  Zenza  and  her  son  except 
in  anger,  and  that  she  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  Strange 
demons  jostle  each  other  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  I  fear  that 
my  office  of  spy  on  the  popular  heart  will  prove  very  difficult. 

"  By  the  .king's  orders,  I  have  been  furnished  with  a  copy  of  the 
church  prayers  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 


no  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  1  must  write  it  down  and  then  the  idea  will  cease  tormenting 
me.  I  am  constantly  picturing  to  myself,  how  would  it  have  been 
if  Zenza  had  become  first  lady  of  the  bedchamber,  and  her  son  the 
poacher,  master  of  the  hounds.  She  would  be  ready  enough  of 
speech.  She  has  exceedingly  clever  and  cunning  eyes,  and  the  lad 
would  surely  have  been  an  elegant  cavalier. 

"In  spite  of  all  their  prating  about  human  equality  and  pride  of 
birth.  I  cannot  help  regarding  it  as  a  sign  of  divine  grace,  that  I 
was  bom  a  countess,  instead  of  Zenza's  daughter ;  but  there  are 
two  sides  to  that  question. 

"God's  creatures  are  not  so  badly  off  in  this  world,  after  all. 
The  frog  croaking  in  the  marsh  is  just  as  happy  as  the  nightingale 
that  sings  on  the  tree. 

"  To  say  to  the  frog,  'Thou,  too,  should 'st  dwell  in  the  rosebush 
and  sing  like  the  nightingale,'  were  not  humane,  but  simply  tyran- 
nical. 

"  Have  you  ever  patiently  listened  to  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  ? 
How  expressive  it  is  of  comfort  !  While  I  write,  they  are  having 
a  grand  concert  over  in  the  park  pond.  I  enjoy  listening  to  them. 
We  human  beings  are  impudent  enough  to  judge  everything  by 
the  standard  of  our  own  taste,  and  yet  Mistress  Frog  will,  very 
justly,  find  no  music  so  sweet  to  her  ears  as  the  song  of  Master 
Frog. 

"  I  feel  so  grateful,  dear  Emma,  that  I  can  write  everything  to 
you.  You  cannot  imagine  wrhat  a  relief  it  is  to  me. 

"  I  am  a  spy  on  my  own  heart ;  there  are  many  wild  spirits  in  it 
— adventurers  and  fortune  hunters  and,  with  them  all,  a  nun.  I 
am  quite  curious  to  know  how  so  mixed  a  company  will  get  on  to- 
gether. 

"  My  behavior  towards  the  whole  court  is  so  free  and  indepen- 
dent, because  I  have  a  secret  daily  task :  writing  to  you. 

"  But  my  thoughts  go  out  to  you  a  thousand  times  oftener : 

There  's  not  an  hour  in  the  silent  night, 
But  what  my  thoughts  go  out  to  thee. 

"  Do  you  remember  it  ?  It  was  your  favorite  song.  I  sing  it, 
for  your  sake,  at  least  once  every  day.  You  and  my  piano  are  all 
in  all  to  me.  You  patiently  await  my  coming.  All  the  music  of 
all  the  masters  that  ever  were,  or  ever  will  be,  dwells  within  you, 
;md  you  only  await  the  coming  of  the  one  whose  touch  can  release 
those  tones. 

"  I  have  a  dual  soul.  In  its  one  phase,  the  piano— in  its  other, 
the  zither.  The  one  is  easily  moved  from  place  to  place  ;  the 
other  not.  The  one  requires  that  the  fingers  touch  the  strings. 
But  ah,  dear  Emma,  I  scarce  know  what  I  am  writing.  I  wish  I 
could  get  rid  of  the  habit  of  thinking.  I  wish  I  were  Zenza's  daugh- 
ter and  the  poacher  wei  e  my  brother.  But  no  ;  our  thieves  and 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  in 

rogues  who  have  been  at  school  long1  enough  to  know  the  seven 
cardinal  sins  and  the  whole  of  the  catechism  by  heart,  are  timid 
and  cowardly  ;  they  drop  the  petition  for  pardon  into  their  mother's 
lap,  while  they  stand  by  whining :  Forgive  us,  we  have  done  noth- 
ing wrong.  All  the  world  over,  there  is  no  longer  genuine  scorn 
of  nature.  Methinks  the  '  Italian  robber  behind  the  rock '  that  you 
once  worked  in  wools,  has,  in  these  days,  ceased  to  be  more  than 
a  traditional  pattern  for  embroidery.  The  arts  simply  se.i  ve  to 
gloss  over  life. 

"Good  night — good  night." 

"A  day  later. 

"  I  never  read  what  I  have  once  written.  I  do  not  care  to  be 
reminded  of  it  again.  Yesterday's  sun  does  not  shine  to-day. — 
But  that  was  not  what  I  meant.  The  sun  is  the  same,  but  the  light 
is  ever  new,  and  I  am  happy  to-day  and  do  not  care  for  all  the 
churches  and  palaces,  men  and  women,  frogs  and  crocodiles  in 
the  world. 

"  To-day,  the  king  said  to  me  : 

"  '  I  am  well  aware,  Countess,  that  you  have  thought  contemptu- 
ously of  me,  during  the  last  two  days.  Every  withdrawal  of  your 
sympathy  affects  me  as  sensibly  as  if  it  were  an  electric  shock. 
Do  not  let  this  happen  again,  I  beg  of  you  ! '  and  while  he  spoke, 
he  looked  at  me  like  a  beseeching  child.  Ah,  he  has  such  deep, 
beautiful  eyes ! 

"  I  remember  your  once  saying  to  me  :  '  There  are  glances  with- 
out a  background,  void  of  depth  or  soul ; '  but  the  glances  of  this 
friend  have  unfathomed  depths. 

"  The  bonds  that  held  me  captive  shall  no  longer  restrain  me  ! 
I — I — but  no — I  cannot  write  the  word. 

"  Oh  Emma  !  How  I  wish  I  were  a  peasant  on  a  lonely  moun- 
tain height.  Last  night,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  native  mountains 
were  calling  out  to  me,  '  Come  home ' — '  Do  come  ' — '  It  is  good  to 
be  with  us.'  Ah,  I  would  like  to  come,  but  cannot. 

"Walpurga  is  a  great  friend  to  me  at  present.  I  become 
absorbed  in  her  life,  so  full  of  true,  natural  repose.  I  find  it  excess- 
ively amusing  to  behold  the  court  as  reflected  through  her  eyes. 
It  seems  like  a  very  puppet-play,  and  we,  like  two  merry  children 
at  a  raree-show. 

"We  often  sing  together,  and  I  have  learned  some  lovely  songs 
from  her.  O  how  charmingly  independent  the  country  people  are. 

"  '  On  mountain  heights  there  dwells  no  sin.'  The  song  is  ever 
haunting  me. 

"  The  king  departs  for  the  baths  to-dny ;  my  brother  is  in  his 
suite.  The  king  requested  me  to  write  to  him,  now  and  then.  I 
shall  not  do  it." 

"  Two  days  later. 

"  The  king  knows  that  I  cannot  live  unless  there  be  flowers  in 


112  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

my  room,  and  has  given  orders  to  have  a  fresh  bouquet  placed  there 
even  day.  This  displeases  me.  A  flower  that  a  friend  has 
stooped  to  pluck  for  you  is  worth  more  than  a  thousand  artistically 
arranged  bouquets. 

"  The  king  has  also  left  orders  that  bouquets  shall  be  sont  daily 

to  Baroness  N and  Countess  A .  I  think  this  is  only  to 

avoid  remarks  upon  the  attention  shown  me.  I  am  angry  at 
l he  king.  He  shall  not  have  a  line  from  me. 

"  I  have,  for  some  time  past  been  taking  lessons  in  modeling,  from 
a  professor  at  the  academy.  He  has  finished  a  bust  of  me,  and 
has  used  it  as  a  model  for  a  figure  of  Victory,  to  be  placed  on  the 
new  arsenal.  Have  I  not  reason  to  be  proud  ?  After  this,  I  shall 
ever  be  in  the  open  air,  and  shall  see  nothing  but  the  blue  sky,  the 
sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  and,  at  noon,  the  guard-mounting. 

"  The  professor  says  that  I  have  talent  for  modeling.  This  has 
made  me  quite  happy.  Painting  and  drawing  are  only  half  the 
battle — mere  makeshifts.  Will  you  permit  me,  on  my  return,  to 
make  a  rtlici'O  of  you  ? 

"  Did  I  not,  in  one  of  my  letters  to  you,  speak  of  a  secret  in  re- 
gard to  the  queen  ? 

"I  think  I  did. 

"  The  affair  is  now  at  an  end.  For  love  of  the  king,  the  queen 
wished  to  enter  our  church,  or  rather  yours — pardon  me,  once  and 
for  all  time,  I  have  no  church.  The  king  behaved  nobly  in  the 
matter.  I  shall  never  forget  the  time  he  told  me  of  it.  He  is,  in- 
deed, a  great  man.  How  glorious  it  is,  that  there  are  princes  on 
earth  who  realize  our  ideal  of  the  perfect  man.  Free  and  yet  self- 
possessed,  unspoiled,  unperverted  and  unbiased.  If  there  were  no 
kings,  we  could  no  longer  know  a  free,  beautiful,  perfect  man.  I 
use  the  word  beautiful  in  its  highest  sense,  and  of  course  presup- 
pose the  existence  of  a  noble  mind.  All  are  not  gods  who  suffer 
themselves  to  be  worshiped. 

"The  poet  and  the  king  are,  of  all  men,  alone  perfect.  All 
others — be  they  musicians  or  painters,  sculptors  or  architects,  artists 
or  scholars — have  narrow,  contracted  vocations,  solo  instru- 
ments, as  it  were.  The  poet  and  the  king  are  the  only  ones  who 
grasp  life  in  all  its  phases.  To  them,  naught  is  void  of  meaning, 
because  all  belongs  to  them.  The  poet  creates  a  world  ;  the  king 
is  a  world  in  himself.  The  poet  knows  and  depicts  the  shepherd 
and  the  huntsman,  the  king  and  the  waitingmaid,  the  seamstress—- 
in fact,  all.  But  the  king  is  hunter  and  statesman,  soldier  and 
farmer,  scholar  and  artist,  all  in  himself.  He  represents  the 
orchestra  of  talents.  Thus  is  he  king,  and  thus  does  he  represent 
a  people,  an  age— aye,  humanity  itself,  and  at  its  best. 

"Ah,  Emma  !  Call  me  Turandot.  Schoning,  the  poetic  cham- 
berlain, is  also  paying  his  addresses  to  me. 

'•  Do  you  know  what  I  ought  to  have  been  ? 

"  1  do. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  113 

"  Queen  of  a  tribe  of  savages.  That  is  what  I  was  created  for. 
My  true  vocation  would  be  to  found  a  new  ci\  ilization.  Do  n't 
laugh  at  me.  I  am  not  joking ;  indeed,  I  'm  not.  I  am  fit  for 
something  far  better  than  all  I  have  here.  I  am  not  modest.  I 
judge  others  and  myself,  too.  I  know  my  merits  and  my  faults, 
also. 

"  On  father's  estate,  there  is  a  hammock  that  hangs  between  two 
elms.  My  greatest  pleasure  was  to  lie  in  it,  suspended  in  the  air, 
while  I  dreamt  of  distant  worlds. 

"Do  you  know  some  savage  tribe  that  would  elect  me  as  its 
queen?  I  have  procured  some  of  the  Indian  melodies,  if  they 
really  deserve  the  name.  One  of  the  professors  at  the  university, 
who  spent  six  years  among  the  Indians,  recently  gave  a  lecture 
at  court.  He  brought  some  of  their  instruments  with  him,  and 
had  them  played  on.  There  was  more  noise  than  music.  It 
seemed  like  the  lisping  of  a  nation  which,  as  regards  civilization,  is 
yet  in  its  infancy." 

"  Four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  Forget  all  that  I  have  written  to  you,  as  you  would  the  breezes 
and  the  weather-changes  of  yesterday. 

"  I  have  just  left  my  bed,  in  order  to  write  to  you.  I  cannot 
sleep.  I  am  scarcely  dressed  while  I  sit  here  speaking  to  you. 
Oh  !  that  I  could  speak  to  you  !  Writing  is  a  miserable  make- 
shift— nay,  helplessness  itself. 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  ails  me.  All  that  I  am — my  very  self 
— seems  as  if  only  for  the  time  being.  I  feel  as  if  waiting  for 
something,  I  know  not  what.  I  fancy  that  the  very  next  mo- 
ment must  bring  it,  and  that  I  shall  either  be  doing  some  wonder- 
ful thing,  or  have  it  happen  to  me — that  I  shall  be  completely 
changed  and  become  a  great  healing  power,  instead  of  the  puny, 
useless  child  of  man  that  I  now  am.  I  listen  and  fancy  that  I 
must  hear  a  tone  that  has  never  yet  been  uttered  on  earth. 

"There  is  no  use  trying — I  cannot  write.  I  imagined  that  it 
would  soothe  me  if  I  could  force  myself  to  think  and  speak  of  all 
things  in  definite  terms,  but  I  know  nothing  definite.  I  only  know 
that  I  am  unhappy.  Not  unhappy,  but  as  if  dead  and  yet  alive. 
I  imagine  myself  a  sleep-walker. 

"  I  can  write  no  more.  I  close  my  letter  and  shall  go  to  bed. 
I  want  to  sleep.  All  the  world  about  me  lies  hushed  in  slumber. 
Oh,  that  I  could  dream  myself  into  another  world,  even  though 
:iy  sleep  were  one  from  which  there  is  no  waking  ! 

"  Good  n.ght !     Good  morning ! 

'  IRMA." 


114  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

4 '  ^PO-MORROW,  I  mean  to  bring  Countess  Irma  to  you," 
1  said  Doctor  Gunther  to  his  wife,  one  evening.  "  She  's  the 
daughter  of  my  old  friend." 

"  In  voice  and  manner,  the  Countess  is  full  of  majesty,  but  her 
singing  is  not  practical." 

"Then  you  shall  teach  her.  She  will  be  glad  to  learn  from 
you." 

"  If  she  be  willing,  I  am  quite  at  her  sen-ice." 

The  Doctor  was  delighted  to  find  it  so  easy  to  bring  the  two 
ladies  together.  He  knew,  of  course,  that  his  wife  complied  with 
his  every  wish,  but  in  this  instance  he  was  doubly  anxious  that  all 
should  go  smoothly. 

For  some  time  past,  he  had  observed  that  Irma  was  in  a  fever- 
ish condition  which,  during  the  last  few  days,  had  been  growing 
worse ;  but  he  was  one  of  those  physicians  who  pay  great  atten- 
tion to  mental  conditions  and,  instead  of  waiting  for  disease  to 
make  its  appearance,  endeavor  to  avert  it  by  proper  changes  in  the 
mode  of  living.  He  did  not  know  the  cause  of  Irma's  excitement, 
but  he  knew  that  her  temperament  was  one  of  extremes,  and  felt 
sure  that  if  she  could  only  obtain  an  insight  into  a  pure  home  and, 
perhaps,  become  initiated  into  its  ways,  it  would  have  a  tranquil- 
i/ing  effect  and  lead  her  mind  to  move  in  quieter  channels.  He 
had  enough  experience  to  know  that  there  are  no  substitutes  for 
sympathy  and  friendship,  but  felt  that  the  acquaintance  of  a  citi- 
zen's wife,  of  exalted  character  and  ripe  culture,  could  not  fail  to 
have  an  effect  upon  Irma,  who  had  thus  far  known  no  life  but  that 
of  the  cloister  and  the  court. 

Gunther  had  no  need  to  give  his  wife  instructions,  or  even  a 
mere  hint  as  to  the  way  in  which  she  was  to  endeavor  to  gain  an 
influence  over  Irma.  He  felt  as  sure  of  his  wife's  course  in  the 
matter  as  if  she  were  a  force  in  nature,  and  well  knew  that,  if  left 
to  her  own  methods,  the  result  would  be  so  much  the  more 
certain. 

Gunther  usually  kept  his  household  free  from  all  relations  with 
the  court ;  but  this  was  the  daughter  of  his  friend — although  that 
friend  was  angry  at  him — and  he  allowed  her  the  freedom  of  his 
house. 

Some  weeks  before,  when  speaking  of  the  Te  Deum  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  birth  of  the  crown  prince,  Irma  had  casually  referred 
to  her  having  met  Gunther's  wife  and  youngest  daughter.  The 
Doctor  had  again,  as  if  by  the  merest  chance,  introduced  the 
subject  and,  almost  without  knowing  it,  Irma  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  improve  the  slight  acquaintance  thus  begun.  This  was  just 
what  he  had  wished  for  and,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  follow- 
ing, he  conducted  Irma  to  his  beautiful,  well-furnished  home. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  1 1 5 

Gunther's  wife  was  Swiss  by  birth,  and  had  come  fro.n  a  wealthy 
and  cultured  family.  She  spoke  High  German  with  a  strong 
Alemannic  accent.  She  endeavored  neither  to  retain  the  dialect 
nor  to  acquire  the  language  of  books.  Her  easy,  natural  ways 
seemed  the  result  of  careful  culture,  but  there  was  no  attempt  to 
show  off  either.  As  a  matter  of  course,  she  was  perfectly  conver- 
sant with  all  that  related  to  the  economy  of  the  household,  and  at 
the  same  time  fully  alive  to  all  that  makes  for  beauty  and  the  com- 
mon weal. 

As  a  singer,  Madame  Gunther  had  been  a  great  favorite,  both 
in  social  circles  and  at  important  vocal  performances.  Her  voice 
was  a  full,  resonant  soprano  and,  although  she  had  given  up  sing- 
ing solos,  she  and  her  daughters  would  still  take  part  when  great 
musical  works  were  performed.  When  fresher  voices  had  taken 
the  solo  parts,  she  had,  without  a  murmur  of  regret,  retired  to 
her  place  in  the  chorus. 

And  thus,  too,  was  her  life.  Self-reliant  and  diligent  at  home, 
she  took  an  active  interest  in  all  public  institutions  in  which  women 
were  permitted  to  take  part.  She  had  preserved  one  priceless  heir- 
loom— she  was  free  from  nervousness  and,  with  her,  public  spirit 
was  a  duty.  She  educated  her  children,  managed  her  household, 
was  a  kind  and  attentive  hostess,  and  performed  all  this  as  if  obey- 
ing the  simple  instincts  of  her  nature. 

She  honored  her  husband.  Whatever  he  said  was  always  of 
special  weight,  but  still  she  held  fast  to  her  own  judgment. 
Although  she  had  been  living  in  the  capital  for  nearly  twenty  years, 
she  had  remained  a  stranger  to  the  whole  of  the  hodge-podge 
system  of  caste  and  the  granting  of  favors  by  the  grace  of  this  or 
that  one.  She  was  not  opposed  to  the  system,  but  she  left  such 
matters  to  those  in  whose  eyes  they  possessed  value  and  impor- 
tance ;  as  for  herself,  she  regarded  them  with  absolute  indifference. 

She  was  pleased  at  the  honors  shown  her  husband,  but  that 
seemed,  to  her,  a  matter  of  course.  He  was  a  great  man,  and  if 
the  world  had  withheld  its  praise,  he  would,  in  her  eyes,  still  have 
been  the  greatest  and  best  of  men.  Her  whole  bearing  expressed 
this  feeling.  She  had  never  had  the  slightest  desire  to  appear  at 
court,  and  when  her  husband  was  obliged  to  be  away  from  home 
by  day  or  at  night,  and  often  for  weeks  at  a  time,  she  accepted  his 
absence  as  unavoidably  incident  to  his  calling,  and  refrained  from 
adding  to  his  discomfort  by  complaining  thereat. 

When  the  Doctor  returned,  it  was  always  to  a  well-ordered 
home.  Refreshed  and  invigorated  by  its  influence,  he  would  go 
back  to  the  smooth  and  slippery  precincts  of  the  court. 

Irma  was  now  introduced  to  this  home.  In  appearance,  she  was 
all  beauty  and  dignity,  and  no  one  would  have  guessed  how  forlorn 
and  homeless  she  felt  within  her  heart.  In  her  hand,  she  held  the 
bouquet  which  had,  as  usual,  been  sent  to  her  that  day,  by  the 


Ii6  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

kind's  orders.  Gunther  had  told  her  that  this  was  his  daughter 
Paula's  birthday,  and  she  had  brought  the  flowers  for  her.  They 
were  as  lovely  as  she  who  brought  them.  And  yet  what  was  it 
that  clung  to  them  ?  It  was  almost  sinful  to  use  the  bouquet  as  a 
birthday  favor,  for  Irma  felt  mortified  when  she  received  it.  But 
the  flowers  were  as  coin  that  might  be  passed  on  to  another. 

When  Irma  entered  the  house,  she  felt  as  if  escaping  from  the 
noise  and  bustle  of  the  market-place,  or  the  restless  life  and  cries  of 
the  highway,  into  a  temple  of  domestic  peace. 

The  house  was  on  a  little,  narrow  street,  and  was  surrounded  by 
a  garden  full  of  tall,  fine  trees.  A  portion  of  the  yard  had  been 
fenced  off  and  converted  into  an  aviary.  The  hallway  and  rooms 
were  adorned  with  statuettes  and  pictures ;  the  furniture  was 
simple  and  massive.  The  Doctor's  library,  reception-room  and 
study  were  in  the  upper  story. 

There  had  been  no  preparations  of  any  kind  for  Irma's  recep- 
tion. The  mother  had  carefully  enjoined  her  daughters  not  to 
make  any  change  in  their  dress  on  account  of  the  Countess's  visit. 
They  did  not  go  out  to  meet  her.  She  was  conducted  through  the 
summer-house,  where  the  flowers  and  presents  for  Paula  had  been 
arranged,  and  there,  on  the  steps,  sat  Madame  Gunther  and  her 
daughters,  busily  engaged  in  needle-work.  The  elder  daughter, 
the  wife  of  Professor  Korn  of  the  university,  had  her  child  with  her. 
Paula,  the  younger  of  the  two,  who,  like  Irma,  had  just  entered 
her  twenty-first  year,  could  not  be  termed  beautiful,  but  had  a 
bright  and  cheerful  countenance  and  a  fine  figure. 

Irma  was  warmly  welcomed.  As  it  was  Gunther's  hour  for 
consultation,  he  soon  retired  and  left  her  with  the  ladies.  She  was 
surprised,  at  first,  to  find  herself  repeatedly  accosted  as  the 
daughter  of  an  old  friend.  She  was  not  here  on  her  own  merit,  or 
as  the  most  admired  of  all  the  ladies  at  court,  but  simply  as 
Count  Eberhard's  daughter,  who  had  been  received  into  the  house 
from  an  affectionate  sense  of  duty.  When  asked  about  her  fath- 
er's health,  she  thanked  them,  although  she  felt  sad  at  heart  to 
think  that  she  knew  so  little  of  him.  How  utterly  different  from 
hers  was  the  life  these  children  led. 

Music  soon  afforded  a  convenient  and  agreeable  change.  On  the 
piano,  there  lay  a  composition  in  manuscript.  It  was  by  a  nephew 
of  Madame  Gunther's,  who  lived  in  northern  Germany.  Madame 
Gunther  told  her  that  he  was  a  philologist  by  profession,  but  that, 
as  he  would,  in  all  likelihood,  lose  his  eyesight,  he  had  determined 
to  cultivate  his  decided  musical  gifts  and  to  perfect  himself  as  a 
musician. 

Irma  begged  Madame  Gunther  to  sing  the  song,  but  she  replied 
that,  while  her  voice  was  no  longer  equal  to  it,  that  of  the  Countess 
tvas  exactly  suited  to  it.  She  gave  the  manuscript  to  Irma,  who 
read  it  over  and  afterwards  sang  it  with  rich,  full  voice,  t» 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  117 

Madame  Gunther's  accompaniment.  The  composition  was  pleas- 
ing, but  full  of  suggestions  of  well-known  masters. 

Madame  Gunther  now  showed  what  she  meant  by  practical 
singing.  Irma  did  not  make  the  best  use  of  the  means  at  her 
command,  and  where  there  were  faults  showed  them  too  plainly. 
The  Doctor's  wife  instructed  her  in  a  simple,  unpretentious  man- 
ner, and  Irma  remarked  that  the  daughters  ought  to  feel  happy  to 
think  that  they  could  hear  such  singing  every  day. 

"And  this  is  my  son,  the  most  grateful  of  all  listeners,"  said 
Madame  Gunther,  introducing  a  handsome  young  man  with  a  full, 
brown  beard.  He  was  technical  director  in  a  manufactory  of 
chemicals,  and  had  brought  a  student  with  him.  Female  friends 
who  lived  in  the  neigborhood  joined  them  soon  afterward  and 
there  were  merry  times  on  the  terrace  and  in  the  garden. 

Irma  remarked  the  attentive  glances  directed  upon  her.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  all  knew  the  troubles  that  filled  her  soul ;  she 
had  completely  forgotten  how  beautiful  she  was. 

"Pardon  me,  Madame  Gunther,  for  looking  at  you  so,"  said  Irma, 
suddenly,  "  but  I  am  somewhat  of  a  dabbler  in  plastic  art,  and 
when  I  notice  the  contour  and  color  of  your  head,  it  seems  as  if 
the  Holbein  Madonna,  of  the  Dresden  Gallery,  had  come  to  life 
and  was  standing  before  me." 

"  Can  you  really  see  the  resemblance,  at  this  late  day  ?  "  asked 
Madame  Gunther,  blushing  slightly ;  "  in  former  days,  it  was  often 
remarked  and  was  almost  the  very  first  thing  my  husband  said 
to  me  in  Zurich,  now  well  nigh  twenty-six  years  ago.  On  my 
mother's  side  I  can  trace  my  descent  from  the  family  of  Burgo- 
master Maier,  by  whose  orders  the  picture  was  originally  painted." 

Irma  was  delighted  with  all  that  she  heard  and  saw,  and  espe- 
cially with  Madame  Gunther's  reminiscences.  While  speaking  of 
her  own  efforts  in  the  way  of  art,  she  looked  at  the  Doctor's  wife 
earnestly,  and  only  wished  she  were  able  to  model  a  portrait,  in 
which  case  Madame  Gunther  would  have  to  sit  to  her.  She  could 
not  help  thinking,  at  the  same  time,  that  there  was  a  culture  which 
had  been  handed  down  from  earliest  times  :  a  culture  whose  history, 
running  through  all  ages,  is  entirely  different  from  that  of  the 
nobility,  and  that  the  best  results  of  human  effort  had  been  brought 
about,  not  by  the  nobles,  but  by  civic  liberty. 

Madame  Gunther  asked  Irma  whether  she  had  a  picture  of  her 
mother, 

Irma  replied  that  her  father  had  had  a  portrait  taken  of  her 
mother  when  in  the  fullness  of  her  beauty.  The  picture  had  been 
a  failure,  and  almost  seemed  as  if  intended  for  some  one  else, 
and  so  her  father  had  ordered  it  to  be  destroyed.  He  would  rather 
have  no  picture  than  a  false  one. 

"  That,  of  itself,  is  enough  to  make  one  honor  him  for  his  love 
of  truth,'  said  Madame  Gunther.  "Most  people  are  satisfied  with 


ii8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

\vhat  is  false,  and  keep  on  saying :  '  you  can  recognize  this  or  that 
feature,'  until  they,  at  last,  persuade  themselves  that  it  must  once 
have  been  a  true  likeness." 

The  conversation  now  turned  upon  the  fact  that  Irma  had  never 
known  her  mother,  and  Irma's  glance  often  dwelt  upon  the  two 
daughters  sitting  beside  their  mother. 

Madame  Gunther  said  : 

"  I  trust  that  I  've  not  awakened  painful  memories,  but  I  regatd 
it  as  a  duty  that  we  should  often  think  of  our  beloved  dead  ; 
calmly  and  peacefully,  of  course.  I  've  always  felt  thus  with  re- 
gard to  my  departed  mother,  and  I  hope  that,  when  the  time 
comes,  my  children  may  have  the  same  feelings  toward  me." 

Irma  pressed  Madame  Gunther's  hand.  All  that  she  said  was 
so  full  of  truth,  so  satisfying. 

Madame  Gunther  told  her  that  it  was  long  before  she  had 
acquired  a  taste  for  plastic  art.  Appreciation  had.  however, 
gradually  dawned  upon  her ;  but  it  was  for  what  related  to  the 
human  figure,  rather  than  for  landscapes.  The  conversation  con- 
tinued in  an  easy  and  cheerful  vein.  The  carriage  had  long  ago 
been  announced  ;  the  half-hour  which  Irma  had  meant  to  stay  with 
Madame  Gunther  had  been  prolonged  to  more  than  an  hour.  At 
last,  she  took  her  leave  with  sincere  requests  to  repeat  her  visit. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHEN  Irma  returned  to  the  palace,  she  felt  as  if  coming  from 
another  world — from  a  life  tar  removed  from  her  own. 

Gunther  was  a  deep  student  of  the  human  heart. 

In  one  respect,  Irma's  visit  had  had  the  result  foreseen  by  him  ; 
but  there  was  some  unknown  influence  at  work,  and.  perhaps,  af- 
fecting previously  existing  conditions.  Nothing,  unless  it  be  the 
drop  that  falls  from  the  cloud,  is  free  from  foreign  admixture,  and 
it  is  from  pure  thought  alone  that  one  can  draw  definite  conclu- 
sions. The  water  in  the  spring,  and  the  living  human  heart,  both 
contain  foreign  elements  within  themselves,  and  no  one  can  fore- 
tell how  a  new  ingredient  may  affect  the  invisible  atoms  thus  held 
in  solution. 

Irma's  soul  was  deeply  agitated.  Her  great  power  had  been  ex- 
ercised and  had  sought  some  act  in  which  to  spend  itself.  She 
had  felt  happy  in  the  possession  of  the  king's  friendship  and  in  the 
thought  that  she  could  furnish  so  great  a  mind  as  his  with  the 
congenial  companionship  he  would  otherwise  be  obliged  to  forego  ; 
but  the  daily  bouquet,  trivial  attention  as  it  was,  had  aroused 
and  offended  her.  "He  isn't  my  ideal,"  said  she  to  herself,  and 
her  heart  felt  lonely  again,  as  it  had  been  ever  since  she  was  old 
enough  to  think. 

Although  she  had  been  lonely  while  at  the  cloister,  she  had 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  119 

there  found  a  friend  who,  if  she  had  little  to  impart,  gratefully  ac- 
cepted all  that  Irma  could  give  her.  At  the  court,  she  felt  lonely 
in  spite  of  her  wanton  humors.  She  was  always  obliged  to  be  do- 
ing something,  be  it  playing,  singing,  painting  or  modeling ;  any- 
thing but  this  death-like  solitude.  She  was  suffering  the  home- 
sickness of  the  soul. 

'•Are  not  all  in  this  world  homeless?"  she  asked  herself,  and, 
while  searching  her  mind  for  an  answer,  Gunther  had  introduced 
her  to  his  household. 

There,  2 11  seemed  beautiful  and  complete.  There  was  a  home, 
and  a  mother  who  showed  that  she  understood  a  young  and  ardent 
life ;  the  daughters  would  never  suffer  as  she  did.  The  mother's 
glance  fell  upon  her  and  seemed  to  say :  "  I  shall  understand  you 
and  will  soothe  all  sorrow's  you  may  tell  me  of."  But  Irma  could 
not  complain,  nor  exclaim  :  "  Help  me  !  " — and  where  nothing  was 
required  of  her,  least  of  all.  She  could  and  must  help  herself. 

Madame  Gunther  had  touched  her  most  tender  chord  :  the  mem- 
ory of  her  mother  and,  although  Irma  gently  avoided  the  sub- 
ject, her  pain  was  so  much  the  greater. 

She  wept,  but  did  not  know  it  until  a  tear  dropped  on  her  bosom. 

There  is  so  much  comfort,  so  much  of  real  and  beautiful  seclu- 
sion, in  a  world  which  is  content  with  itself,  and  which,  in  its  work 
and  education,  requires  no  favors  from  those  above.  How  happy 
the  lot  of  a  daughter  in  such  a  home,  until  she,  in  turn,  becomes 
the  head  of  another  household. 

Irma  felt  humbled.  All  her  pride  had  left  her.  Her  thoughts 
were  still  in  the  garden,  where  the  people  moved  about  in  care- 
less unconstraint  and  where  the  men,  returning  from  their  profes- 
sional labors,  and  the  maidens,  from  their  domestic  duties,  were  en- 
joying themselves  in  common. 

"One  thing  yet  remains  mine  and  it  is  the  best,"  exclaimed 
Irma,  suddenly  rising :  "  solitude  is  mine.  I  can  yet  be  lonely, 
strong,  self-contained." 

Her  waitingmaid  entered  and  announced  a  lackey  sent  by  the 
queen. 

"  Does  the  queen  want  to  see  me  at  once  ?  " 

"  Yes,  gracious  Countess.  ' 

"Very  well,  I  '11  be  there  directly." 

"Walpurga  was  right,  after  all,"  said  she  to  herself;  "I,  too, 
serve." 

She  felt  vexed  while  she  stood  before  the  mirror  to  have  her 
dress  adjusted.  She  assumed  a  cheerful  expression  with  which  to 
appear  before  the  queen.  She  was  obliged  to  do  so. 

She  hastened  to  obey  the  queen's  orders.  When  she  got  near 
the  door,  she  drew  herself  up  and  again  fixed  her  features  in  the 
cheerful,  smiling  expression  that  she  wished  them  to  have  and 
then  entered  the  room,  which,  as  usual,  was  dimly  lighted. 


120  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  queen  was  sitting  in  a  large  armchair.  She  was  clad  in  a 
dress  of  snowy  white,  and  a  lace  handkerchief  had  been  twined 
about  her  golden  hair. 

"  Come  nearer,  dear  Countess,"  said  the  queen  "  I  am  delighted 
to  see  you  again.  When  I  see  my  dear  friends,  it  seems  as  if  I  'd 
!>een  spending  the  last  few  weeks  in  another  world.  Unfortu- 
nately, I  am  somewhat  i.idisposed,  again.  I  owe  you  special 
thanks,  for  I  understand  that  you  Ve  kindly  interested  yourself  in 
the  nurse ;  by  keeping  her  cheerful,  you  do  the  prince  a  service. 
Thr  king  quite  agrees  with  me  that  you  're  a  real  treasure  to  us. 
I  shall  write  as  much  to  your  father  and  tell  him  how  happy  we  are 
to  have  you  with  us.  That  will  surely  put  him  in  a  better  humor 
with  you." 

Irma  was  glad  that  the  queen  had  so  much  to  say,  for  she  was 
thus  enabled  to  recover  her  composure. 

'*  Pray  give  me  the  letter  that  lies  on  the  table,"  said  the 
queen. 

Irma  brought  it  and  the  queen  added  : 

"Just  read  these  lines  of  the  king's." 

Irma  read :  "  Pray  tell  Countess  Irma  to  keep  me  constantly 
informed  as  to  the  condition  of  our  son.  Remember  me  to  the 
dear  fourth  petal  of  our  clover-leaf." 

Irma  returned  the  letter  with  thanks.  She  felt  deeply  humiliated 
to  think  that  the  king  was  trying  to  force  her  to  write,  and  at  the 
method  he  had  chosen.  Walpurga  was  right  when  she  spoke  of 
love-glances  at  the  cradle. 

Irma  almost  fainted  with  grief  and  shame. 

4<  Won't  you  do  us  the  favor  to  write,  dear  Countess  ?  " 

Irma  bowed  deeply,  and  the  queen  continued  : 

"  Of  course  there  will  be  very  little  to  write  about.  Man  is  the 
highest  object  in  creation  and,  for  that  very  reason,  develops  far 
more  slowly  than  all  other  creatures," 

Irma  was  about  to  suggest  that,  at  that  rate,  a  prince  would  de- 
velop still  more  slowly,  but  she  merely  nodded  and  smiled  assent. 

She  was  not  in  a  mood  to  enter  into  the  queen's  way  of  think- 
ing. She  could  see  nothing  in  her  but  nursery  thoughts,  with  which, 
at  present,  she  had  no  sympathy,  Though  they  were  vastly  more 
important,  what  would  it  matter  to  me,  thought  she  to  herself. 
Here,  just  as  in  Gunther's  house,  there  is  a  life  separate  from  the 
world  and  contented  with  itself.  Here  is  a  mother  and  her  child. 
Of  what  use  am  I  ?  Merely  to  talk  and  take  part  in  everything. 
All  others  are  complete  and  possess  a  world  of  their  o\vn  ;  and  am 
I  always  only  to  take  a  part — there,  the  alms  bestowed  by  friend- 
ship ;  here,  those  accorded  me  by  royal  grace  ?  Am  I  complete  in 
in  self,  or  am  I  not  ? 

And  while  Irma's  mind  xsas  filled  with  these  thoughts,  the 
queen,  in  her  agitated,  soulful  manner,  went  on  to  say  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  121 

11  The  miracle  of  life  fills  me  with  awe.  Have  you  never  thought 
of  the  world  of  meaning  suggested  by  the  idea  of  a  child  drawing 
its  first  breath  and  opening  its  eyes  for  the  first  time  ?  Air  and 
light  are  earth's  first  and  last  messengers  ;  the  first  breath  and  the 
last ;  the  first  glance  and  the  last.  How  wonderful !  " 

Irma  now  felt  what  it  was  to  serve.  Had  she  been  free,  and  on 
an  equal  footing  with  the  one  who  addressed  her,  she  would  have 
said  :  "  My  dear  friend,  I  am  not  in  the  mood,  just  now,  to  entei 
into  what  you  are  saying.  Within  your  soul,  there  is  the  calm  of 
early  morn  ;  in  mine,  hot,  burning  noonday.  I  implore  you,  leave 
me  to  myself." 

Irma  was  filled  with  a  deep  longing  for  boundless  solitude,  but 
she  dared  not  show  it.  She  would  gladly  have  closed  her  eyes, 
but  obsequious  glances  were  required  of  her.  She  listened  and 
answered,  but  her  soul  was  far  away.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
she  felt  indignant  that  there  was  a  fellow-being  who  enjoyed  rights 
of  which  she  was  deprived.  She  felt  angry  at  the  queen.  She  was, 
several  times,  on  the  point  of  mentioning  her  visit  to  Gunther's 
house,  but  felt  that  life  there  had  nothing  in  common  with  the 
constant  gloom  of  the  queen's  apartment.  It  seemed  to  her, 
moreover,  that  it  were  wrong,  even  in  thought,  to  bring  hither  the 
citizen-wife  whose  footsteps  had  never  entered  the  palace ;  and 
then  she  thought  of  her  father  and  his  strong  sense  of  independence. 

And  while  such  were  her  thoughts,  she  spoke  of  the  prince  and 
of  Walpurga's  amusing  peculiarities. 

The  queen  saw  that  Irma's  thoughts  were  slightly  tinged  with 
sadness  and,  wishing  to  cheer  her  up,  said  : 

"  Ah,  dear  Countess,  I  am  really  languishing  for  music.  Friend 
Gunther  has  forbidden  my  listening  to  music,  lest  it  might  afifect 
my  nerves  ;  but  one  of  your  little  songs  would  do  no  harm.  I  hear 
that  you  Ve  learned  a  beautiful  one  from  the  nurse.  Won't  you 
sing  it  for  me  ?  May  I  send  for  your  zither  ?  " 

Irma  felt  more  like  crying,  but  she  bowed  assent  and  sent  a 
servant  for  the  zither.  He  brought  it,  and  Irma  sang : 

Ah,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee, 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by 
When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

My  heart  doth  bear  a  burden,  love, 
And  thou  hast  placed  it  there  ; 
And  I  would  wager  e'en  my  life 
That  none  doth  heavier  bear. 

Within  Irma's  soul  there  was  a  shrill,  discordant  accompani- 
ment to  this  song,  every  word  of  which  had  a  double  meaning. 

"And  I  must  sing  this  to  the  queen,"  said  the  voice  within  her. 
'Yes,  you  two  are  united.     All  happy  ones  are.      The  unhappy 
one  is  always  lonely." 
6 


122  0.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Her  song  was  full  of  gloomy  despair ;  her  heart,  of  ai  ger. 

"You  sing  that  with  deep  feeling,"  said  the  queen,  "and  my 
son  hears  it,  too.  One  can  scarcely  say  'hears/  for  all  that  he 
hears  or  sees  is  undefined.  Pray  repeat  the  song,  so  that  I  may 
sing  it  to  myself." 

Irma  sang  it  again,  but  this  time  her  mind  was  more  at  ease. 
The  queen  thanked  her  heartily.  "  The  Doctor  has  unfortunately 
forbidden  my  conversing  for  any  length  of  time,  even  with  those 
who  are  dear  to  me.  I  am  delighted  to  think  that  we  shall  soon  go 
to  the  summer  palace.  Then  we  will  spend  much  of  our  time 
together  and  with  the  child.  Adieu  !  dear  Countess,  write  soon, 
and  sing  your  lovely  soul  into  the  child's  heart." 

Irma  went  away.  While  passing  through  the  long  corridors, 
she  stopped  several  times,  as  if  to  remember  where  she  was.  At 
last  she  reached  her  room,  and  gave  orders  that  her  horse  be 
saddled  at  once  and  that  a  groom  be  in  waiting. 

Irma  had  just  changed  her  dress  when  a  servant  brought  her  a 
letter.  She  broke  the  seal  with  a  trembling  hand  and  read  : 

"  My  child : — You  have  now  been  at  court  for  eighteen  months. 
I  have  left  you  free  and  uncontrolled.  There  are  many  things 
which  I  would  like  to  say  to  you,  but  cannot  write.  Writing 
estranges.  Your  rooms  are  ready,  and  flowers  await  you.  It  is 
now  lovely  summer  and  the  apples  on  your  tree  are  getting  ruddy 
cheeks  like  your  own,  and  I  should  like  to  see  yours  again.  Come  to 

'••  YOUR  FATHER." 

Irma  threw  up  her  hands.  "  This  is  deliverance  !  Yes,  I  still 
have  a  home,  and  there  is  still  a  heart  against  which  I  can  rest  my 
head.  I  am  coming,  father !  I  am  coming !  " 

Her  brain  whirled  with  excitement.  She  rang  for  her  servant 
and  sent  word  to  the  groom  that  she  would  not  ride  out.  Then, 
after  having  ordered  the  waitingmaid  to  pack  up  enough  clothes 
for  several  weeks,  as  quickly  as  possible,  she  presented  herself  be- 
fore the  queen  and  asked  for  leave  of  absence. 

"I  am  sorry  th'at  you,  too,  leave  me,"  said  the  queen,  "but  I 
shall  gladly  part  with  you  if  it  only  helps,  as  I  hope  it  will,  to 
make  you  happy.  Do  all  that  lies  in  your  power  to  be  in  full 
accord  with  your  father.  Believe  me,  Irma,  in  the  various  relations 
of  life,  be  it  as  wife  or  as  mother,  one  is  sensible  of  a  constant 
desire  to  grow  and  expand  with  each  succeeding  day ;  the  child 
alone  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  itself." 

The  queen  and  Irma  were  not  in  accord  that  day.  Irma  was 
restless  and  anxious  to  depart.  Whatever  detained  her,  though 
it  were  only  for  a  second,  excited  her  resentment. 

What  the  queen  was  saying,  might  have  been  interesting  to  rru 
who  was  not  in  a  hurry,  but  not  to  her  whose  foot  was  already  on 
the  carr  age  step. 

The  parting  was,  nevertheless,  an  affecting  one,  the  queen  kissing 
Irma. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  123 

All  that  now  remained  was  to  ask  Countess  Brinkenstein's  for- 
mal assent.  That,  too,  was  obtained. 

She-  had  not  yet  said  farewell  to  Doctor  Gunther  and  his  family. 
She  wished  to  say  good-bye  through  Colonel  Bronnen,  or  Baron 
Schojiing  who  had  told  her  that  he  often  visited  the  Doctor's 
house.  It  was  also  necessary  to  take  leave  of  these  men  and  hei 
companions  at  court.  Now  that  she  was  about  to  go,  she  found 
out  how  many  acquaintances  she  had.  But  where  are  they  when 
you  need  them  ?  They  are  here,  simply  that  you  may  not  need 
them.  Such  is  the  world  ;  but  stop  !  There  's  one  to  whom,  of 
all  others,  you  must  say  farewell.  She  hurried  off  to  Walpurga. 

"Walpurga,"  she  exclaimed,  "when  you  get  up  to-morrow, 
shout  as  loud  as  you  can.  By  that  time,  I  '11  be  at  our  mountain 
home,  and  I  '11  shout  back  to  you  until  the  whole  world  rings  with 
laughter.  I  'm  going  to  my  father." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  it." 

"  And  are  n't  you  sorry  to  see  me  go  ?  " 

"Of  course;  but  if  your  father's  still  alive  you  oughtn't  miss 
looking  into  the  eyes  that  are  only  once  in  the  world  for  you.  I'm 
glad,  for  your  father's  sake,  that  he  's  able  to  look  on  such  a  child 
as  you  are.  Oh  !  if  my  Burgei  were  only  as  tall." 

"Walpurga,  I  '11  also  go  to  see  your  husband,  your  child  and 
your  mother.  I  '11  sit  down  at  your  table  and  remember  you  to 
your  cow  and  your  dog.  I  shall;  depend  upon  it." 

"  Oh  !  how  happy  they  '11  be  !  If  Hansel 's  only  at  home  and  not 
in  the  woods." 

"  If  he  is,  I  '11  have  them  send  for  him  ;  and  now  farewell !  do  n't 
forget  me ! " 

"  You  can  rely  on  that,"  said  Walpurga,  while  Irma  hurried 
away. 

She  still  found  time  to  write  to  her  friend  Emma  : 

"  Dearest  Emma  :  Two  hours  ago,  I  received  a  letter  from 
father.  He  calls  me  home  to  him.  I  have  leave  of  absence  for  a 
fortnight.  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  I  was  obliged  to 
promise  that  I  would  surely  return  ;  I  do  n't  know  whether  I  shall 
keep  my  promise.  The  earth  trembles  at  my  feet  and  my  head 
swims.  The  world  is  all  chaos,  but  there  will  be  light !  Any  one 
can  say  :  '  Let  there  be  light ! '  If  we  only  could  always  do  our  best. 
But  I  shall  not  write  another  word.  It  is  enough  ;  I  shall  see  you 
soon.  Come  to  Wildenort  as  soon  as  you  can,  to  your 

"IRMA. 

"P.S. — I  shall  take  no  excuse  ;  you  must  come.  In  return,  I 
promise  to  go  to  your  wedding.  Many  greetings  to  all  of  yours, 
and,  above  all,  to  your  Albrecht." 

The  sun  was  already  sinking  towards  the  horizon,  when  Irma, 
accompanied  by  her  maid,  departed  for  Wildenort. 


124  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

SO  one  can  go  away,  after  all,  and  leave  the  rr  otley  monotony 
called  "the  world"  behind.  Farewell,  thou  palace,  and  fur- 
nish thy  inmates  with  their  daily  pleasures  Farewell,  ye  streets, 
filled  with  shops  and  offices,  towers  and  churches,  theatres,  music- 
halls  and  barracks.  May  fashion  be  gracious  and  favor  you  with 
customers,  clients,  guests,  applause,  and  fostering  laws.  Vanish, 
frail  frippery !  I  feel  like  a  bird  flying  from  the  housetop,  out  into 
the  wide  world.  How  foolish  to  remain  in  the  cage  when  the  door 
is  al'.vays  open.  Thou,  great  bailiff  who  holdest  the  world  captive 
— thy  name  is  custom  ! 

Thus  thought  Irma  to  herself,  while  seated  in  the  carriage  and 
driving  out  into  the  open  world. 

Her  thoughts  again  recurred  to  the  great  house  which  she  had 
just  left.  It  was  the  dinner  hour  and  they  were  waiting  for  the 
queen  to  appear.  What  a  pity  that  the  lord  steward  had  not  been 
Dresent  at  the  creation  of  the  world,  for  here  every  one  has  his 
fixed  place  and  the  sen-ice  is  simply  perfect.  The  queen  expresses 
her  regrets  at  the  departure  of  Countess  Irma.  All  praise  her. 

"Oh  she  's  so  very  good,"  says  one. 

••  And  so  merry,"  says  another. 

"Somewhat  unmanageable,  but  very  amiable,"  says  still  another. 

But  what  is  there  new  ?  It 's  a  bore  to  be  talking  of  one  sub- 
ject all  the  time.  Help  !  Zamiel  Schnabelsdorf ! 

"Away  with  it  all!"  exclaimed  Irma,  suddenly;  "I  shall  not 
look  back  again,  but  forward  to  my  father." 

The  horses  stepped  out  bravely,  as  if  they  knew  they  were  carry- 
ing a  child  to  her  father. 

Irma  was  so  impatient  that  she  told  the  servant  who  was  seated 
on  the  box,  to  give  a  double  fee  to  the  driver  so  that  they  might 
get  on  faster. 

She  could  hardly  wait  until  she  saw  her  father,  so  anxious  was 
she  to  rest  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

What  did  she  desire?  To  complain  to  him?  How  could  he 
help  her?  She  knew  not.  All  she  knew  was  that,  with  him, 
there  must  be  peace.  She  wished  to  be  sheltered,  protected ;  no 
longer  alone.  To  obey  him  and  anticipate  his  even'  wish  would 
be  her  highest  happiness.  To  be  released  from  herself,  and  to  de- 
sire nothing  that  did  not  minister  to  the  joy  of  another — oh,  how 
happy  the  thought !  The  whole  earthly  load  is  removed.  Thus 
must  it  be  with  the  blessed  spirits  above !  Thus  should  we  imag- 
ine angels  to  be  !  They  want  for  nothing  and  need  nothing,  they 
never  change  and  never  grow,  are  neither  young  nor  old.  They 
are  eternal,  and  are  ever  laboring  for  and  through  others.  Their 
works  bring  joy  to  the  world  and  to  themselves.  They  are  the  un- 
dying rays  of  an  eternal  sun. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  125 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  journey,  Irma's  brain  was  filled 
with  such  unintelligible  dreams,  and  the  whole  world  seemed  to  be 
saying ;  "  Father — Daughter." 

She  regained  composure  at  last.  It  would  not  do  to  arrive  at 
the  castle  in  this  state. 

Agitation  is  weakness,  and  it  had  always  been  her  father's  aim 
to  foster  strength  of  mind  and  self-command, 

Irma  forced  herself  to  observe  what  was  going  on  about  her. 

It  was  twilight  when  they  reached  the  first  post  station.  Irma 
fancied  she  could  almost  feel  the  air  of  her  native  mounUJns, 
although  they  were  still  far  off. 

They  drove  on  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  evening  bells  were  ringmg, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  their  sounds,  carrying  them  out  to -the 
men  and  women  in  the  fields,  and  measuring  time  and  eternity  for 
them. 

What  would  the  world  be  without  its  bells,  whose  pealing  har- 
monies are  to  serve  as  a  substitute  for  the  beautiful  creations  of 
antique  art  ? 

But  these  thoughts  failed  to  satisfy  Irma.  They  lifted  her  out 
of  the  world,  whilst  she  desired  to  occupy  herself  with  what  was 
present  and  established. 

In  the  villages  through  which  they  drove,  and  the  fields  by  which 
they  passed,  there  was  singing,  interrupted,  now  and  then,  by  the 
rattling  of  the  carriage  wheels,  and  Irma  thought :  We  make  too 
much  noise  in  this  world,  and  thus  miss  enjoying  what  the  rest 
may  have  to  tell  us. 

No  thoughts  were  to  her  liking.     No  outlook  pleased  her. 

The  stars  appeared  in  the  heavens,  but  what  were  they  to  man  ? 
They  shine  for  him  who  is  free  and  has  naught  to  seek  on  earth. 
She,  however,  was  seeking,  and,  in  the  world's  vast  circle,  could 
see  nothing  but  two  starry  eyes  directed  upon  her ;  and  they  were 
her  father's. 

They  continued  on  their  journey,  disturbing  lazy  horses  and 
sleepy  postilions  at  every  station. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  Wildenort. 

Irma  alighted  at  the  manor-house  and,  accompanied  by  the 
r ervant,  knocked  at  the  door. 

Her  father  had  not  expected  her  so  soon.  There  were  no  lights 
in  the  large  house,  or  its  extensive  outbuildings.  Dogs  barked, 
for  strangers  were  coming.  There  was  not  even  a  dumb  beast 
that  knew  Irma,  for  she  was  a  stranger  in  her  father's  house. 

Two  ploughboys  passed  by.  They  were  astonished  to  see  the 
beautiful  lady  at  that  hour,  and  she  was  obliged  to  tell  them  who 
she  was. 

She  ordered  her  rooms  to  be  opened.  Her  father  slept  near  by. 
She  longed  to  see  him,  but  controlled  herself.  He  should  sleep 
calmly  and  not  know  that  she  was  breathing  near  him.  She,  too, 
soon  fcfl  asleep  and  did  not  wake  till  broad  daylight. 


126  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Stepping  softly,  old  Eberhard  entered  the  ante-chamber  where 
Inna's  maid  was  already  sitting. 

•  My  lady  the  Countess,  is  still  sleeping.  It  was  three  o'clock 
j'j5t  about  daybreak,  when  we  arrived." 

"  What  made  you  hurry  so  and  take  no  rest  ?  " 

••  I  do  n't  know ;  but  the  Countess  was  quite  excited  on  the  way. 
They  could  n't  drive  fast  enough  for  her.  When  my  lady  wishes 
anything,  it  must  be  done  at  once." 

"  Who  are  you,  dear  child  ?  " 

"Her  ladyship's  maid." 

"No,  but  who  are  your  parents  ?     What  took  you  to  court  ?  " 

"  My  father  was  riding-master  to  Prince  Adolar,  and  her  royal 
highness  had  me  educated  in  the  convent  school." 

A  chain  of  dependents,  from  generation  to  generation,  thought 
the  old  man  to  himself. 

The  maid  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

He  was  tall  and  broad  shouldered.  He  wore  the  mountaineer's 
dress  and  a  white  horn  whistle  hung  by  a  cord  from  his  neck. 
His  fine  head  bent  slightly  forward  and  rested  on  a  massive  neck ; 
his  gray  hair  and  beard  were  thick  and  closely  cropped  ;  his  brown 
eye  still  sparkled,  as  if  in  youth ;  his  expressive  countenance 
looked  like  embossed  work,  and  his  whole  figure  resembled  that  of 
a  knight  who  has  just  laid  aside  his  armor  and  put  himself  at 
ease. 

"  I  wish  to  see  my  daughter,"  said  the  old  man  as  he  went  into 
the  adjoining  room.  It  was  dark.  Eberhard  stepped  to  the  win- 
dow, on  tiptoe,  and  drew  aside  the  green  damask  curtain.  A 
broad  ray  of  light  streamed  into  the  room.  He  stood  before  the 
bed  and,  with  bated  breath,  watched  the  sleeping  one. 

Irma  was  beautiful  to  behold.  Her  head,  encircled  by  the  long, 
loosened,  golden  brown  tresses ;  the  clear,  arched  brow,  the  deli- 
cately chiseled  nose,  the  mouth  with  its  exquisitely  curved  upper 
lip,  the  rosy  chin,  the  full  cheeks  writh  their  peach-like  glow — over 
all  there  lay  a  calm  and  peaceful  expression.  The  beautiful,  small, 
white  hands  lay  folded  on  her  breast. 

Irma  was  breathing  heavily,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  with  a  sad 
smile.  It  is  difficult  to  sleep  with  one's  hands  folded  on  the  breast. 
The  hands  gently  loosened  themselves,  but  the  left  one  still  rested 
on  her  heart.  The  father  lifted  it  carefully  and  laid  it  at  her  side. 
Irma  slept  on  quietly.  Silently,  the  father  took  a  chair  and  sat 
clown  at  her  bedside.  While  he  sat  there,  two  doves  alighted  on 
the  broad  window-sill,  where  they  remained  cooing  with  each 
other.  He  would  have  liked  to  frighten  them  away,  but  he  dared 
not  stir.  Irma  slept  on  and  heard  nothing. 

Suddenly,  the  pigeons  flew  away,  and  Irma  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Father ! "  she  cried,  throwing  her  amis  around  his  neck  and 
kissing  him.  "  Home  again  !  Oh,  how  happy  it  makes  me !  Do 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  127 

draw  the  other  curtain,  so  that  I  can  see  you  better,  and  pray  open 
the  window  so  that  I  may  inhale  my  native  air  !  Oh,  father  !  I  Ve 
been  away  and  now  I  've  come  back  to  you,  and  you  won't  let  me 
go  away  again.  You  will  support  me  in  your  powerful  arms.  Oh, 
now  I  think  of  what  you  said  to  me  in  my  dream.  We  were 
standing  together  up  on  the  Chamois  hill  and  you  took  me  up  in  your 
arms  and,  while  carrying  me,  said  :  '  See,  my  child  ;  so  long  as 
one  of  your  parents  lives,  there  is  some  one  to  help  you  bear  up  in 
the  world.'  Oh,  father!  Where  have  I  been?  Where  am  I 
now  ?  " 

"Be  calm,  my  child.  You  Ve  been  at  court  and  now  you  're 
home  again.  You  're  excited.  Calm  yourself.  I  '11  call  the  ser- 
vant. Breakfast  is  ready  in  the  arbor." 

He  kissed  her  forehead  and  said : 

"  I  kiss  all  your  good  and  pure  thoughts,  and  now  let  us  live  to- 
gether again,  as  plain  and  sensible  beings." 

"  Oh,  that  voice  !  To  be  in  my  father's  house  and  at  home  once 
more  !  Life  elsewhere  is  just  like  sleeping  in  one's  clothes.  'T  is 
only  at  home  that  one  can  rest ;  for  there  no  bond  oppresses  us." 

He  was  about  to  leave,  but  Irma  detained  him. 

"  I  feel  so  happy,"  said  she,  "  to  be  here  and  look  at  you  ;  to  see 
you  and  think  of  you,  all  the  time." 

The  father  passed  his  hand  over  her  forehead,  and  she  said  : 

"  Let  your  hand  rest  there.  I  now  believe  in  the  laying  on  ot 
hands  ;  my  own  experience  convinces  me." 

He  remained  at  her  bedside  for  some  time,  his  hand  still  resting 
upon  her  forehead. 

At  last  he  said  : 

"  And  now  arise,  my  child.     I  shall  expect  you  at  breakfast." 

"I  am  glad  there  is  some  one  who  can  command  me  to  ' get 
up'." 

"  I  do  n't  command,  I  simply  advise  you.  But,  my  dear  child, 
something  strange  must  be  going  on  with  you,  as  you  understand 
nothing  in  its  literal  sense." 

"  Yes,  father — very  strange  !  but  that 's  all  over,  now." 

"Well  then,  follow  me  as  soon  as  you  can  ;  I  shall  await  you." 

The  father  went  out  to  the  arbor,  where  he  awaited  her  coming. 
He  moved  the  two  cups  and  the  beautiful  vase  of  flowers  first  to 
one  position,  and  then  to  another,  and  arranged  the  white  table- 
cloth. Shortly  after,  Irma  entered,  clad  in  a  white  morning 
dress. 

"  You  're — you  're  taller  than  I  thought  you  were,"  said  the 
father,  a  bright  color  suffusing  his  face. 

He  stroked  his  daughter's  cheek,  while  he  said ; 

"  This  white  spot  on  your  rosy  cheek,  extending  from  the  jaw  to 
the  cheek  bone,  is  just  as  your  mother  had  it." 

Irma  smiled  and,  grasping  both  of  her  father's  hands,  looked 


128  a\T  THE  HEIGHTS. 

into  his  eyes.  Her  glance  was  so  full  of  happiness  that  the  old 
man  who,  at  all  times,  preserved  his  equanimity,  found  his  eyes 
rilling  with  tears.  He  endeavored  to  conceal  them,  but  Ir'ma 
said: 

"  That  won't  in  the  least  detract  from  your  heroism.  Oh,  father, 
why  are  we  such  slaves  to  ourselves  ?  Why  should  we  be  afraid 
to  appear  as  we  are  ?  Your  great  rule  is  that  we  should  follow 
out  our  natures.  Why  do  we  not  always  do  so?  Oh,  father 
let  me  send  up  a  joyful  shout  to  my  native  mountains,  to  the 
forests  and  the  lakes !  I  'm  with  ye,  again,  my  constant 
friends  !  Let  us  live  together  !  Hold  fast  by  me  and  I  will  be  as 
faithful  as  ye  are  !  I  greet  thee,  sun  ;  and  yonder  hill  under  which 
my  mother  rests — " 

She  could  not  go  on.     After  some  time,  the  old  man  said : 

"It  would  be  well,  my  child,  if  we  could  live  out  our  life  in  all 
its  native  purity ;  but  it  is  neither  fear  of  ourselves,  nor  self- 
imposed  slavery  that  induces  us  to  avoid  such  scenes,  such  violent 
agitation.  It  is  a  deep-seated  feeling  that,  by  contrast,  the  next 
moment  must  appear  bald  and  commonplace.  It  would  oblige  us 
to  plunge  from  a  life  of  excessive  sensibility  into  the  every  day 
world.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  should,  and  do,  exercise  self- 
control  ;  for  such  emotions  should  not  exhaust  themselves  in  what 
might  be  called  a  devout  outburst,  but  should  extend  through  all 
our  acts  and  thoughts,  even  to  the  smallest  and  most  insignificant. 
That  is  the  source  of  our  noblest  aspirations.  Yes,  my  child,  the 
very  ones  who  thus,  as  it  were,  divide  their  life  in  two,  profane  the 
one-half  of  it,  while  they  secretly  flatter  themselves :  Wre  have 
had  great  and  noble  emotions  and  are  still  capable  of  feeling 
them." 

The  old  housekeeper  brought  the  coffee.  Irma  waited  on  her 
father  and  told  him  that  she  expected  Emma  and  her  betrothed. 
Eberhard  said : 

••  When  Emma  was  here,  years  ago,  your  thoughts  ran  in  the 
same  vein  as  at  present.  We  were  on  the  Chamois  hill,  where  a  fine 
view  of  the  great  lake  can  be  obtained,  and  were  waiting  to  see  the 
sunrise.  Emma,  in  her  matter-of-fact  and  plain-spoken  way,  said  ; 
'  I  do  n't  think  it  worth  while  to  lose  one's  sleep  and  go  to  so  nvich 
trouble  for  this.  I  find  the  sunset  fully  as  beautiful  and  far  less 
troublesome.'  What  did  you  answer  her  at  the  time  ?  " 

"  I  can'r.  remember,  father  dear." 

"  But  I  do.  You  said  :  '  The  sunrise  is  far  more  elevating,  but  I 
do  n't  know  what  one  can  do  to  have  the  rest  of  the  day  in  keeping 
with  lofty  mood  thus  inspired.  Sunset  is  better  for  us,  because 
the  world  then  veils  itself  and  allows  us  to  rest.  After  beholding 
the  highest,  there  are  only  two  things  left  us — sleep  and  music.'  " 

"  But,  father,  I  Ve  ceased  to  think  so.  Yesterday,  during  the 
whole  of  my  drive,  I  was  haunted  by  the  thought :  What  are  we  ir 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  129 

the  world  for,  after  all  ?  Without  us  the  trees  would  still  grow  • 
the  beasts,  the  birds  and  the  fishes  would  still  live  without  us 
All  these  have  a  purpose  in  the  world ;  man  alone  is  obliged  to 
seek  one.  Men  paint,  and  build,  and  till  the  soil,  and  study  how 
they  may  the  better  kill  each  other.  The  only  difference,  after  all, 
between  mankind  and  the  beast  is  that  "man  buries  his  dead." 

"  And  have  you  ventured  so  far,  my  child  ?  I  am  indeed  glad 
that  you  're  with  me  once  again.  You  must  have  had  much  to 
co.itend  with.  I  trust  you  will  once  more  learn  to  believe  that 
o:j"  p?oper  destiny  is,  to  live  in  accordance  with  nature  and  reason. 
L^ok  at  the  world  !  "  said  he,  with  a  smile.  "  A  maiden  twenty- 
one  years  of  age,  and  a  countess  to  boot,  asks :  '  Why  am  I  in  the 
world  ?'  Ah,  my  child,  to  be  beautiful,  to  be  good,  to  be  as  lovely 
as  possible  in  mind  as  well  as  in  outward  form.  Conduct  yourself 
so  that  you  can  afford  to  wish  that  every  one  might  know  you  thor- 
oughly.— But  enough  of  this,  for  the  present," 

The  hour  that  father  and  daughter  thus  spent  together  in  the 
arbor  was  full  of  happiness  for  both,  and  Irma  repeatedly  expressed 
a  wish  that  she  could  thus  live  forever. 

Oblivious  of  all  else,  each  seemed  to  constitute  the  other's'  world. 

"You  've  become  my  great  tall  girl,"  said  the  father.  He  had 
intended  to  say :  "  You  must  have  gone  through  a  great  deal,  for 
you  return  to  your  father  and  have  nothing  to  tell  about  matters 
trifling  or  personal  to  yourself."  He  had  intended  to  say  this,  bu". 
simply  repeated  :  "  You  Ve  become  my  great  girl." 

"  And,  father !  you  order  me  to  remain  with  you,  do  you  not  ? ' 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  Ve  never  ordered  you  to  do  anything, 
since  you  were  able  to  think  for  yourself,"  replied  the  father.  "  I  'cl 
have  you  act  according  to  your  own  convictions,  and  not  against 
your  will  or  reason." 

Irma  was  silent.  She  had  not  received  the  answer  she  had 
hoped  for,  and,  feeling  that  she  must  herself  bring  about  the 
desired  result,  determined  to  do  so. 

A  forest-keeper  came  to  receive  instructions  in  regard  to  the 
woods.  Eberhard  replied  that  he  would  ride  out  there  himself. 
Irma  begged  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  him  and,  her  father  con- 
senting, she  soon  appeared  in  a  hunting  dress  and  rode  off  with 
him  across  the  meadows  and  in  the  direction  of  the  forest. 

Her  face  glowed  with  animation  while  she  felt  herself  moving 
along  on  the  spirited  steed,  through  the  shady,  dewy  forest. 

While  her  father  was  giving  his  orders  to  the  forest-keepers, 
Irma  was  resting  on  a  mossy  bank  under  a  broad,  spreading  fir 
tree.  Her  father's  dog  had  already  made  friends  with  her,  and 
now  came  up  and  licked  her  hand.  Thus  awakened,  she  arose 
ant!  walked  over  towards  the  field  at  the  edge  of  the  forest.  The 
first  object  her  eyes  fell  upon  was  a  four-petaled  clover-leaf.  She 

5* 


130  6LV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

quickly  possessed  herself  of  it.     Her  father  now  joined  her  and 
noticed  her  happy  looks.  \ 

"  How  much  good  it  has  done  me  to  rest  on  the  earth,"  said  i 
she.  ^ 

He  made  no  reply.  JHe  did  not  think  it  necessary  that  every 
fet  iing,  however  deep,  should  find  vent  in  wordsT"? 

Irma  looked  up  in  surprise.  In  the  world  o^oohversation,  small 
change  is  paid  back  for  every  remark. 

They  soon  returned  home. 

During  the  afternoon  they  were  seated  together  in  the  cool 
library.  Cicero's  words,  "When  I  am  alone,  then  am  I  least 
alone,"  were  written  in  letters  of  gold,  over  the  door. 

The  father  was  writing  and  would  occasionally  look  at  his 
daughter,  who  was  engaged  with  a  volume  of  Shakespeare.  She 
v/as  reading  the  noblest  thoughts,  taking  them  up  into  herself  and 
n.aking  them  a  part  of  her  own  soul. 

Eberhard  felt  it  a  joy  to  detect  his  owrn  glance  in  another's  eye, 
to  hear  his  own  thoughts  from  other  lips,  and  that  eye  and  those 
lips  his^  child's — to  note  that  her  soul  reflected  his,  although  native 
temperament  and  peculiar  impressions  had  served  to  make  hers 
different  from  and  independent  of  his  own.  The  ideal  that  had 
filled  his  youthful  dreams  now  stood  before  him,  incarnate. 

Eberhard  soon  closed  his  book  and  smiled  to  himself.  He  was 
not  so  strong  as  he  had  imagined.  Now  that  his  child  was  with 
him,  he  could  not  keep  on  with  his  work,  as  he  had  done  the  day 
before.  He  sat  down  by  Irma,  and,  pointing  to  Spinoza's  and 
Shakespeare's  works,  that  always  lay  on  his  worktable,  he  said  : 

"  To  them,  the  whole  world  was  revealed.  Although  they  lived 
centuries  ago,  they  are  my  constant  companions  on  these  lonely 
mountains.  I  shall  pass  away  and  leave  no  trace  of  my  thoughts 
behind  me,  but  I've  already  lived  the  life  eternal  in  the  companion- 
ship of  the  noblest  minds.  The  tree  and  the  beast  live  only  for 
themselves,  and  during  the  short  period  that  ends  with  death. 
With  life,  we  inherit  the  result  of  centuries  of  thought  and  he  who, 
within  himself,  has  become  a  true  man  fully  embodies  the  idea  of 
humanity.  Thus  you  live  on,  with  your  father  and  with  all  that  is 
true  and  beautiful  in  the  history  of  the  human  race." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  It  was,  at  last,  broken  by  th~  father's 
saying: 

"  Did  n't  you  come  in  a  court  carriage  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

"  And  so  you  intend  to  return  to  court  ? '' 

"  Father,  do  n't  let  us  speak  of  that,  now.  I  Ve  not  like  you. 
strength  enough  to  drop  from  the  greatest  heights  do\\  n  to  the 
level  of  ever}r  day  life." 

"  My  child,  every  day  affairs  are  the  highest  that  can  engage  us." 

"But  I  'd  like  to  forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  court,  01 


GN  THE  HEIGHTS.  131 

that  I  've  ever  been,  or  ever  shall  be,  anything  but  part  of  your 
heart  and  soul." 

"  No,  you  're  to  live  for  yourself;  but  if  you  wish  to  remain  with 
me,  all  you  need  do  is  to  send  the  carriage  back." 

"  I  shall  have  to  return,  though  it  be  but  for  a  few  days.  I  have 
only  leave  of  absence,  not  a  discharge.  The  best  thing  would 
be  for  you  to  go  with  me  and  bring  me  back  again." 

"I  can't  go  to  court,  as  you  well  know;  and  I  give  you  credit 
for  enough  strength  to  take  yourself  away  from  there.  I  was 
watching  you  to-day  while  you  lay  asleep.  There  's  nothing 
false  in  you ;  as  yet,  no  evil  passions  cloud  your  brow.  I  know 
your  brother  is  anxious  to  have  you  marry,  and  I,  too,  wish  that 
you  may  become  a  good  wife  and  mother.  { But  I  fear  that  you 
have  become  too  much  your  own,  ever  to  become  another's,  lie 
that  as  it  may,  my  child,  look  at  the  scene  spread  out  before  you. 
Myriads  of  flowers  are  blooming,  silent  and  unknown.  Should  a 
wanderer  pass  by  and  feast  his  eyes  upon  them,  or  even  pluck  a 
flower,  it  has  lived  for  him.  Should  it  blossom  and  fade  away 
unseen,  it  has  lived  for  itself.  But,  my  child,  do  n't  go  out  of  yout 
way  to  please  me.  How  long  is  your  leave  ?  " 

"A  fortnight." 

"  Let  us  spend  the  time  in  truth  and  cheerfulness,  and  then  act 
as  your  judgment  dictates." 

CHAPTER    X. 

^HE  days  passed  by  quietly.  Eberhard  had  little  to  do  with 
1  his  neighbors,  but  was  always  glad  to  see  the  burgomaster 
of  the  village,  who  was,  also,  a  deputy  to  the  Diet,  and  to  consult 
with  him  regarding  the  affairs  of  the  community. 

Irma  spent  much  of  her  time  alone.  She  read,  embroidered, 
painted  and  sang.  After  the  first  few  days,  a  reaction  set  in. 

"  What  is  this  life  ?"  she  asked  herself,  "  of  what  use  ?  I  work  for 
dress — dress  for  my  soul  and  for  my  body.  And  to  what  purpose  ? 
The  mirror  sees  me,  the  walls  hear  me,  and  I  have  my  father  for 
one  hour  at  noon  and  another  in  the  evening." 

She  endeavored  to  control  her  flights  and,  although  she  suc- 
ceeded in  that,  could  not  prevent  herself  from  thinking  of  one  who 
was  distant.  She  would  look  around  as  if  she  could  hear  his  foot- 
steps and  as  if  the  air  were  filled  with  his  presence  ;  and  that  man 
was — the  king. 

She  could  not  but  think  that  he  expected  a  letter  from  her,  and 
what  had  he  received  ?  The  news  of  her  departure.  Why  should 
she  insult  and  mortify  him  ? 

While  at  Wildenort,  she  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  writ- 
ing to  him.  She  wanted  to  tell  him  that  she  had  meant  to  flee 
from  him  ;  nay,  from  herself.  Framing  the  sentences  in  her  mind, 


132  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

she  would  say  to  herself:  Flight  is  not  cowardice.  Ihdeed,  it  re- 
quires  great  strength  thus  to  tear  one's  self  away.  She  meant  tc 
make  this  clear  to  him.  She  did  not  wish  him  to  think  ill  of  hu- 
manity and,  least  of  all,  of  her.  His  great  and  extended  energy 
should  not  to  be  weakened,  or  even  disturbed,  by  the  consciousness 
that  mankind  had  no  conception  of  the  truly  noble.  She  owed  it, 
both  to  him  and  to  herself,  to  explain  this ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  do 
it  all  in  writing.  She  would,  therefore,  return  and  tell  him  all, 
and.  after  that,  they  would,  although  distant,  be  united  in  the 
noblest  thoughts.  She  felt  satisfied  that  she  would  find  full  com- 
pensation for  a  lonely  life  in  the  recollection  of  one  moment  of  per- 
fect communion  with  a  noble  mind,  and  the  consciousness  of  truth 
and  purity  in  thought  and  deed. 

Irma  was  delighted  to  think  that  she  had  thus  liberated  herself. 

She  refrained,  as  far  as  possible,  from  speaking  to  her  father 
about  the  court ;  but  a  remark  would,  now  and  then,  involuntarily 
escape  her,  and  she  would  tell  how  the  king  and  the  queen  had 
praised  this  or  that,  or  had  uttered  such  and  such  a  remark,  and  it 
was  easily  to  be  seen  that  she  attached  special  importance  to  what 
they  had  said. 

"That's  the  way  with  men,"  said  Eberhard,  smiling.  "They 
know  what  they  are,  or,  at  least,  ought  to ;  and  yet  they  give  a  prince 
the  right  to  stamp  them  with  a  value.  It  is  he  who  determine:. : 
you  are  worth  so  and  so  much ;  you  a  ducat,  you  a  thaler,  you  a 
mere  brass  counter,  you  a  privy  councilor  and  you  a  colonel.  The 
story  of  the  creation  of  the  world  is  thus  ever  renewed.  There  it 
says  that  the  Creator  led  the  beasts  out  before  man  so  that  he 
might  give  them  names.  Here  the  human  animals  come  to  the 
prince  and  say :  '  Give  us  a  name,  or  we  shall  feel  as  if  naked  and 
be  afraid.'  " 

Irma  started  at  these  harsh  words.  Solitude  had  brought  her 
father  to  this  point.  She  could  not  refrain  from  saying : 

"  You  do  the  king  great  injustice ;  he  has  a  noble  mind  and  is 
full  of  intelligence." 

"  Intelligence  !  I  know  all  about  that,"  replied  Eberhard.  "He 
can  ask  questions  without  number,  propound  problems  and,  for 
his  dessert,  would  fain  have  an  epitome  of  ecclesiastical  history, 
physiology  or  any  other  interesting  department  of  knowledge.  But 
he  never  applies  himself;  never  reads  a  work  through.  He  re- 
quires excerpts  and  essences.  I  know  all  about  it.  And  the 
courtly  roulade  singers  place  their  thoughts  at  his  sen-ice.  Do  n't 
imagine,  my  child,  that  I  underrate  the  king's  efforts.  They  've 
always  told  him  :  '  You  are  a  genius  ! '  They  are  always  persuad- 
ing kings  that  they  possess  genius,  either  military,  political  or  ar- 
tistic. AH  who  approach  a  monarch  are  obliged,  even  in  an  intel- 
lectual sense,  to  attire  themselves  in  court  dress.  He  never  sees 
and  things  in  their  true  colors ;  they  all  drape  themselves  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  133 

please  him.  Nevertheless,  I  believe  the  king  honestly  endeavors 
to  see  things  as  they  are,  and  that 's  a  great  deal ;  but__hg  cau!t 
shakejrff  the  magic  spell  of  set  forms  and  phrases.!' 

Irma's  lips  trembled  with  emotion.  She  did  not  believe  that  her 
father  meant  to  weaken  her  interest  in  the  king,  since  he  could  not 
know  of  its  existence ;  but  his  antagonism  irritated  her  and  she 
saw  -vith  alarm,  that  no  help  war.  to  be  looked  for  in  that  quarter. 
She  "  ght  have  shared  her  father's  solitude,  if  he  had  honored  the 
exa.  ed  man  as  she  did.  He  might  have  done  homage  to  the  noble 
mind,  even  though  it  was  a  monarch's,  without  doing  violence  to 
his  republican  feelings,  or  his  sense  of  justice.  But  now  he 
destroyed  every  bridge  that  had  led  to  a  better  understanding  and 
to  justice.  If  another  had  spoken  thus  of  the  king,  she  would  have 
made  him  feel  her  wrath,  and  now  she  felt  that  her  silence  was  a 
sufficient  sacrifice  to  filial  duty.  Her  heart  seemed  to  close  up 
within  itself,  as  if  never  again  to  be  opened.  She  was  a  stranger 
in  her  father's  house  and  now  doubly  felt  that  she  had  never  been 
at  home  there.  She  forced  herself  to  appear  cheerful  and  tranquil. 
Eberhard  observed  that  an  inner  conflict  agitated  her,  and 
thought  it  was  merely  a  struggle  between  court  life  and  solitude. 
He  did  not  aid  her,  for  he  thought  that  she  could  best  gain  peace 
if  she  fought  the  battle  for  herself. 

On  Sunday  morning — Eberhard  never  went  to  church — he  said  : 

'  Have  you  time  to  listen  to  a  long  story  ?  " 

'  Certainly." 

'Then  let  me  make  my  will  while  I  am  yet  in  health." 

'  Pray,  father,  do  n't  do  that.     Spare  me  !  " 

4 1  do  n't  mean  as  to  my  possessions,  but  as  to  myself.  We 
have  no  picture  of  your  dear  mother,  and  none  of  you  children  have 
any  idea  of  her  appearance — so  pure,  so  lovely,  so  full  of  sunshine  , 
and,  for  that  reason,  I  mean  to  give  you  a  picture  of  my  life. 
Treasure  it.  Who  knows  when  I  may  again  have  a  chance  ?  If 
there  's  anything  that  you  do  n't  understand  or  that  seems  to  you 
in  danger  of  being  misinterpreted,  ask  me  about  it.  I  do  n't  find 
such  objections  an  interruption.  I  pursue  my  life  in  its  even 
tenor ;  nothing  disturbs  me.  I  Ve  accustomed*  myself  to  improve 
my  estate,  to  give  orders  to  my  servants  and  to  answer  their  ques- 
tions, and,  afterwards,  to  take  up  the  train  of  thought  just  where  it 
was  broken  off ;  and  so  you,  too,  may  interrupt  me  whenever  you 
care  to.  % 

"  My  father,  who  was  a  free  count,  was  always  proud  of  his 
direct  relations  to  the  empire.  Unto  his  last  day,  he  would  never 
acknowledge  the  unity  of  the  kingdom  and  would  always  ask : 
'  How  goes  it  over  there  ?  '  He  regarded  his  domain  as  distinct 
from  the  rest,  and  his  family  as  on  an  equality  with  all  princely 
houses." 

"And  why,  dear  father,"  asked  Irma,  "would  you  destroy  these 


134  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

beautiful  memories  that  have  been  handed  dowr,  from  generation 
to  generation  ?  " 

"  Because  history  itself  has  destroyed  them,  and  justly,  too.  It 
is  necessary  for  the  preservation  of  mankind  that  new  races  should 
constantly 'ascend  to  the  surface;  but  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you 
about  my  father.  I  spent  a  happy  youth  in  this  house.  My  precep 
to'',  although  an  ecclesiastic,  was  a  man  of  liberal  opinions,  i 
entered  the  military  service  a  year  before  my  father's  death  and, 
though  I  say  it  myself,  presented  no  mean  figure  while  there,  for  I 
possessed  good  looks  and  an  iron  frame.  I  was  stationed  with  my 
regiment,  in  a  fortress  belonging  to  the  confederation.  While 
recklessly  riding  one  day,  I  fell  from  my  horse  and  dislocated  my 
hip.  It  laid  me  up  for  a  long  time  and  thus  afforded  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  become  better  acquainted  with  our  regimental  surgeon, 
Doctor  Gunther.  Has  he  never  told  you  of  the  the  times  we  passed 
together?" 

"  He  has  merely  mentioned  them.  It  was  only  a  few  days  ago 
that  the  king  told  me  I  was  right  in  saying  that  Doctor  Gunther 
would  only  furnish  verbal  prescriptions  when  they  were  demanded 
and  were  really  necessary." 

"Ah!  and  so  the  king  said  that  you  were  right?  'You  are 
right' — that  is  a  real  mark  of  grace  and  should  make  one  happy 
for  a  whole  day  and  perhaps  even  longer.  Is  n't  it  so?  " 

"  Father — did  n't  you  mean  to  tell  me  more  about  your  life 
with  Gunther?  " 

••  Ah,  my  child,  that  was  a  wondrous  time.  As  far  as  I  was  able, 
I  dived,  with  him,  into  the  study  of  philosophy.  I  can  still  re- 
member, as  if  it  were  this  very  moment,  the  very  hour  and  the  very 
place  by  the  fortress  wall — it  was  a  dull  evening  in  Autumn ;  I  can 
still  see  the  leaves  as  they  fell  from  the  trees — when  Gunther,  for 
the  first  time,  explained  to  me  the  great  saying  of  the  all-wise  one: 
4  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature.'  I  stood  as  if  rooted 
to  the  spot ;  it  dawned  upon  me  like  a  revelation,  and  has  never 
since  left  me.  Although  at  times  obscured  by  the  events  of  life, 
'preserve  thyself,'  has  always  been  before  my  mind.  I  have  faith- 
fully lived  lip  to  the  great  precept,  and  alas,  as  I  now  see,  too 
completely  and  selfishly.  The  man  who  lives  only  for  himself  does 
not  live  a  complete  life,  but  I  can  confess  this  to  you,  of  all  others, 
without  fear.  It  was  only  later  that  I  came  thoroughly  to  know 
the  great  right  of  sovereignty  that  belongs  to  every  human  being. 
I  had  done  much  thinking  before  that,  but  never  in  logical  connec- 
tion. You  cannot  imagine  what  courage  it  requires,  on  the  part  of 
?.  favorite  and  respected  officer,  to  venture  on  the  study  of  philoso- 
phy ;  how  opposed  it  is  to  the  very  idea  of  military  service,  how 
improper  it  seems  to  one's  superiors,  and  how  ridiculous  to  one's 
comrades.  Military  service  so  exhausts  the  body,  by  daily,  and  for 
the  greater  part,  useless  exercises,  that  it  renders  it  difficult  to  cul- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  135 

tivate  one's  mind.  I  often  excused  myself,  as  unwell,  and 
remained  in  my  room  during  the  loveliest  weather,  simply  on 
account  of  my  studies.  Our  regiment  was  ordered  to  the  capital, 
and  Gunther  accepted  my  offer  of  a  discharge.  He  became  a 
professor  and  I  attended  lectures:  But  I  was  painfully  conscious 
of  my  deficiency  in  knowledge  and  ardently  longed  fora  chance  *o 
devote  my  life  to  perfecting  my  education.  An  unforeseen  event 
helped  to  bring  about  the  desired  end.  I  had  become  gentleman 
of  the  bedchamber  and  spent  much  of  my  time  at  court.  At  that 
early  day,  I  observed  the  ineradicable,  servile  spirit  that  "dwells  in 
man.  Every  one  rejoices  that  there  are  others  lower  down  in  the 
scale  than  himself,  and  is  willing,  on  that  account,  to  suffer  some  to 
stand  above  him.  Princes  are  not  to  blame  for  this  ladder  of  non- 
sense. One  day  while  at  the  summer  palace,  the  king  had  gone  out 
hunting,  and  although  it  was  long  past  the  dinner-hour,  not  a 
glimpse  of  him  was  to  be  seen.  The  chamberlains  and  the  court  la- 
dies— I  forget  their  titles — were  walking  in  the  park.  They  would 
sit  down  on  the  benches,  look  through  their  spy-glasses,  and  endeav- 
or, unsuccessfully  however,  to  keep  up  a  sustained  conversation  ; 
for  the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  both  young  and  old,  were  possessed 
of  vulgar  hunger.  And  still  the  herdsman  who  was  to  put  fodder 
in  the  rack  for  them,  did  not  make  his  appearance.  Your  uncle 
Willibald,  pacified  his  gnawing  hunger  with  little  biscuits,  which 
did  not  destroy  his  appetite.  Hours  passed,  while  they  walked 
about  like  Jews  on  the  Day  of  Atonement.  But  they  laughed 
and  joked — at  least  they  tried  to — while  their  stomachs  growled. 
And  though  your  uncle  had  thirty  horses  in  his  stables  at  home, 
with  oxen  and  cows  and  many  broad  acres  besides,  he  was  content 
to  serve  and  wait  there,  because  he  took  great  pride  in  being  lord 
chamberlain.  At  that  time,  my  child,  I  was  as  old  as  you  are  now, 
and  I  swore  to  myself  never  more  to  be  a  servant  to  any  man. 
At  last,  the 'king's  hunting  carriage  arrived.  All  were  profuse  in 
their  greetings  and  received  him  with  smiling  faces.  And  yet  his 
majesty  was  in  a  bad  humor,  for  while  he  had  been  unsuccessful, 
General  Kont,  who  had  been  one  of  the  hunting  party,  had  com- 
mitted the  impropriety  of  shooting  a  deer  with  twelve  antlers. 
The  General  felt  very  unhappy  at  his  good  luck,  and  his  head 
hung  as  mournfully  as  that  of  the  dead  beast.  He  apologized  again 
and  expressed  his  regrets  that  his  majesty  had  not  killed  the  stag. 
With  rueful  countenance,  the  monarch  congratulated  him.  The 
king  looked  at  me  and  asked  :  '  How  are  you  ?  ' 

"•Very  hungry,  Your  Majesty,'  was  my  answer.  The  king 
smiled,  but  the  rest  of  the  court  were  horror-struck  at  my  im- 
pertinence. 

"  We  were  obliged  to  wait  another  half  hour,  while  the  king 
(hanged  his  dress  and,  at  last,  we  went  to  dinner. 

"  My  child,  if  you  were  to  tell  the  story  to  a  courtier,  he  would 


136  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

consider  me  intolerably  stupid;  but  that  meal  was  the  last  I  ever 
ate  at  princely  table. 

"  I  know  that  I  'm  talkative— I  'm  an  old  man.  I  merely  wanted 
to  say  :  Look  about  you  and  see  how  many  human  sacrifices  they 
are  constantly  requiring. 

"  The  idea  of  princely  dignity  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  one.  Th< 
prince  should  embody  the  unity  of  the  state  ;  but,  although  the 
idea,  in  itself,  is  beautiful,  the  'knowledge  that  its  realization  re- 
quires  a  pyramid  of  worn  out  creatures,  divested  of  human  dignity, 
renders  it  repulsive  to  me. 

"  Irma,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  impress  the  testament  of  my  soul 
upon  yours.     The  moment  you  feel  that  you  've  lost  the  smallest 
portion  of  your  crown  of  human  dignity,  flee,  without  hatred  01 
contempt ;  for  he  who  carries  such  feelings  in  his  soul  is  heavily 
laden   and   can  never  breathe  freely.     I  do  n't  hate  the   world  ;  I 
neither  do  I  despise  it.     It  simply  appears  to  me  strange,  decayed,  | 
distant.     Nor  can  I  hate  or  despise  any  one,  because  his  belief  is 
different  from  mine. 

"  But  as  I  do  n't  wish  to  teach  you,  I  will  go  on  with  my  story. 
I  applied  for  my  discharge  and  entered  the  university  as  a  student. 
I  soon  left,  however,  in  order  to  continue  my  education  in  an 
agricultural  school.  After  that,  I  traveled  and,  as  you  know,  spent 
an  entire  year  in  America.  I  had  a  great  desire  to  become,  ac- 
quainted with  that  new  phase  of  history  in  which  men  are  born  to 
intellectual  freedom  and  are  not  constantly  looking  back  towards 
Palestine,  Greece  or  Rome.  I  do  n't  find  the  world  of  the  future 
in  America.  All  there  is  still,  as  it  were,  in  a  state  of  ferment 
suggestive  of  primeval  processes ;  but  whether  a  new  civilization 
will  be  the  result,  is  more  than  I  know.  I  do  know,  however,  that 
all  mankind  is  patiently  waiting  for  a  new  moral  compact.  But  I, 
and  many  more  of  us,  will  never  live  to  see  it  realized. 

"\Yill  the  world  of  the  future  be  governed  by  pure  ideas,  or 
will  it  again  look  up  to  some  lofty  personage  as  its  exemplar  ?  I 
should  wish  for  the  former,  but  its  realization  seems  far  off. 

"  Now  to  continue  with  the  story  of  my  life. 

"  I  returned  home  and,  meeting  your  mother,  was  unutterably 
happy.  She  was  alone  in  the  world.  I  have  enjoyed  the  greatest 
of  all  happiness  ;  there  is  none  other  like  it.  Three  years  after  you 
were  born,  your  mother  died.  I  cannot  give  you  particulars  about 
her.  Her  whole  appearance  was  one  of  strength  and  purity.  The 
ivoild  regarded  her  as  cold  and  reserved,  but  she  was  ardent  and 
")pen-hearted,  beautiful  to  her  very  heart,  but  only  for  me.  I  know 
that  if  she  had  been  spared  to  me,  I  would  have  become  01  c  of 
the  best  and  kindest  of  men.  I  dare  not  think  of  that. 

"  It  was  not  to  be. 

"  But  I  feel  as  if  sanctified  through  her,  for  since  that  time  no 
base  thought  has  ever  entered  my  soul ;  nor  have  I  ever  committee1 
a  deed  that  I  should  feel  ashamed  to  confess  to  my  daughter. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  137 

"  She  died,  and  I  stood  alone,  my  violent  nature  confronting  the 
enigma  of  life. 

"  Although  I  could  not  give  my  children  a  stepmother,  I  became 
a  stepfather  to  them.  Yes,  let  me  speak  on :  I  am  unsparing 
towards  myself.  I  know  that  if  others  heard  me,  they  would  say 
that  I  am  using  too  strong  language.  It  is  the  fashion  to  be  in- 
dulgent nowadays,  but  I  am  not  in  the  mode.  I  put  my  children 
away  from  me.  I  placed  you  with  your  aunt,  until  you  entered  the 
convent,  and  Bruno  remained  with  me  until  he  went  to  the  semi- 
nary. You  were  in  fine  institutions,  with  expensive  fees,  but  you 
were  nevertheless  put  away  from  me.  You  did  not  know  your 
fathe*  ;  you  merely  knew  that  he  was  alive,  but  did  not  live  with 
him.  You  grew  up  like  orphaned  children. 

"  It  is  only  two  years  since  I  confessed  this  to  myself.  For 
weeks,  it  robbed  me  of  sleep,  of  feeling  and  of  thought,  and  still 
I  adhered  to  it.  The  demon  called  sophistry  was  ever  telling  me  • 
'You  could  have  been  of  no  use  to  your  children.  You  had  still 
too  much  to  do  for  yourself,  and  it  is  better  for  them  that  they 
should  become  free  human  agents  through  their  own  unaided 
efforts  than  through  you.'  There  may  be  some  truth  in  it,  but 
nevertheless,  I  've  put  my  children  away  from  me." 

The  old  man  paused.  Irma  laid  her  hand  upon  his  and  gently 
strokecj  it. 

"  'T  is  well.     I  Ve  said  it  at  last. 

"  I  remained  here,  leading  a  solitary  but  not  a  lonely  life.  1 
communed  with  the  greatest  minds  and,  at  the  same  time,  easily 
managed  our  estate. 

"  I  devoted  myself  to  national  affairs,  but  soon  withdrew.  I 
can't  belong  to  a  party,  not  even  to  the  one  that  calls  itself  the 
party  of  freedom.  It  includes  many  noble-hearted  men  whom  I 
honor  and  respect,  but  they  put  up  with  too  many  frivolous  com- 
rades who,  while  they  prate  of  equality  and  of  the  highest  good  of 
man,  do  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  their  fellow-beings  to  themselves. 
Aristocratic  trirlers  are  simply  vicious,  but  democratic  triflers  are 
corrupters  of  ideas.  He  who  dares  not  wish  that  the  whole  people 
should  think  and  act  as  he  does,  has  no  right  to  term  himself  a 
free  and  honest  man. 

"  If  liberty  does  not  rest  on  morality,  what  is  there  to  distinguish 
it  from  tyranny  ?  What  is  tyranny  ?  The  egotistical  abuse  of  be- 
ings endowed  with  rights  equal  to  ours.  A  tyrant,  in  effect, 
denies  his  God.  A  frivolous  democrai  blasphemes  Him.  By 
the  term  God,  I  mean  the  full  conception  of  the  world's  moral  law. 
1  was  a  hermit  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  and  am  happier  and  more 
consistent,  when  away  from  the  world. 

"  And  now  I  am  here  leading  a  solitary  life." 

"  Is  n't  it  sad  to  be  so  lonely?  "  asked  Irma. 

"  If  I  felt  lonely,  it  would  be  very  hard,  "  replied  Ebcrhard  ;  "but 


138  6LY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

man  should  not  feel  lonely,  though  he  be  alone.  Ennui  and  lone- 
liness have  no  resting  place  here.  Men  who  are  nothing  to  them- 
selves are  lonely  wherever  they  be  ;  but  let  me  continue' my  story. 

"Gi  nther's  defection  caused  me  the  greatest  sorrow,  but  I  was 
unjus  owards  him.  He  always  was  a  friend  of  court  life  and  re- 
gardtu  it  as  the  culmination  of  culture.  He  was  always  too  aes- 
thetic and  would  often  say :  '  I,  too,  have  a  claim  on  the  luxuries, 
the  comforts,  the  pleasures  of  life  and  am  determined  to  have  my 
share  of  them.'  That  led  him  to  court  and  caused  him  to  desert 
fiee  science  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  lose  both  himself  and  me. 

"You  have  probably  been  told,  and  have  perhaps  even  yourself 
thought,  that  I  am  a  misanthrope.  He  who  hates  mankind  is  a 
vain  fool.  In  what  respect  is  he  better  than  the  rest,  or  different 
from  them?  I  don't  hate  mankind.  I  only  know  that  most  of 
them,  either  by  their  own  efforts  or  through  those  of  others,  appear 
in  false  colors.  They  affect  an  interest  in  things  that  do  not  con- 
cern them  and,  in  most  instances,  do  not  even  know  that  it  is  affec- 
tation. I  have  often  been  deceived  and  cheated,  but,  I  frankly 
confess,  it  was  because  I  deceived  myself.  I  gave  forth  what  was 
best  in  me,  and  imagined  that  others  were  with  me,  but  it  wras 
mere  politeness  that  induced  them  to  assent.  They  were  not  hyp- 
ocrites ;  it  was  I  who  deceived  myself.  I  imagined  myself  in  a 
world  in  which  all  was  peace  and  harmony,  while,  in  fact,  I  was 
alone,  completely  alone.  Every  one  who  has  a  character  of  his  own, 
is  alone.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  perfect  accord  ;  to  live  out 
one's  self  is  all  that  remains.  But  most  men  do  not  care  to  do  this, 
and  they  are  best  off.  They  live  as  custom  and  morals  require, 
and  do  not  greatly  concern  themselves  about  the  present  or  the 
past.  They  jump  or  dawdle,  as  the  case  may  be,  from  mood  to 
mood,  from  enjoyment  to  enjoyment,  and,  as  long  as  they  can  al- 
ways see  the  same  face  when  they  look  in  the  glass,  are  perfectly 
content.  Such  faces  never  change.  If  the  human  countenance 
always  expressed  the  thoughts  that  fill  the  soul,  you  would  not  be 
able  to  recognize  any  one  from  day  to  day,  or  even  from  hour  to 
hour.  I  do  not  know,  my  child,  where  I  am  leading  you  to  ;  I  only 
meant  to  tell  you  that  I  am  not  a  misanthrope.  I  love  all  men.  I 
kr.ow  that,  at  bottom,  they  cannot  be  different  from  what  they  are, 
and  that  honest  nature  still  lies  concealed  beneath  their  frizzled, 
over-loaded,  glittering  masks.  They  cannot  reveal  it,  however,  and 
ir  spite  of  their  false,  cunning  ways,  there  still  remains  a  great  and 
v.ise  precept:  'Forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do.'i 
And  now  let  me  add  that  I  forgive  your  brother,  too.  He  has 
deeply  mortified  me,  for  the  deepest  mortification  that  one  can  suf- 
fer is  at  the  hands  of  one's  child. 

"  I  cannot  force  Bruno  to  act  against  his  will,  nor  do  I  wish  to. 
It  is  a  strange  world.  The  struggle  between  father  and  son 
drags  on  through  all  ages.  My  son  defends  the  old,  and  I  the 
new ;  but  I  must  bear  with  it  all. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  139 

"  Freedom  alone  accords  with  the  dictates  of  nature  and  reason. 
But  you  cannot  force  one  to  be  free  ;  nor  do  I  wisn  to  force  you, 
in  any  way.  Most  women  would  rather  yield  to  nature  than  affec- 
tion, but  I  do  not  regard  you  as  an  ordinary  woman,  nor  do  I  wish 
you  to  be  one.  You  should — " 

Although  Eberhard  had  said  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  inter 
rupted,  something  now  came  which  did  interrupt  him. 

It  was  a  messenger  with  a  letter  for  Irma.  She  recognized  the 
handwriting  of  her  friend  Emma,  and  hurriedly  opening  the  letter, 
read  as  follows ; 

"  Irma : — I  cannot  come  to  thee.  I  have  said  farewell  to  the 
world.  Three  weeks  ago  to-day,  my  Albrecht  lost  his  life  through 
the  bite  of  a  mad  dog.  My  life  for  this  world  is  also  at  an  end.  I 
humbly  submit  to  the  inscrutable  will  of  the  Almighty.  I  have 
vowed  to  take  the  veil.  I  am  here  now,  and  shall  never  again 
leave  this  spot.  Come,  as  soon  as  thou  can'st,  to  thy 

"SISTER  EUPHROSYNE, 
"In  the  convent  of  Frauenworth" 

Irma  handed  the  letter  to  her  father  to  read. 

"  And  so  the  bite  of  a  mad  dog  has  destroyed  two  human  lives. 
Who  will  explain  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Irma. 

"  In  that  respect,  religion  is  just  as  impotent  as  we  are.  Like 
reason,  she  commands  us  to.  obey  nature's  law." 

The  messenger  waited,  and  Irma  went  off  to  write  an  answer  in 
which  she  promised  to  come. 

Meanwhile,  Eberhard  sat  alone.  He  had  confided  the  story  of 
his  life  to  his  child — and  what  would  it  avail  ?  How  often  had  he 
realized  that  no  teaching,  be  it  ever  so  noble,  can  change  the 
human  mind.  Life,  observation  and  experience  can  alone  produce 
conviction.  The  weak  point  of  dogmatism  is  that  it  attempts  to 
teach  that  which  can  only  be  learnt  from  life  itself.  His  children 
had  not  shared  in  his  life,  and  it  was  now  of  little  avail  to  recount 
it  to  them,  in  all  its  details,  or  to  explain  the  motives  that  directed 
it.  There  was  enough  of  contradiction  implied  in  the  fact  that  the 
father  was  obliged  to  tell  what  his  life  had  been. 

In  his  own  mind,  Eberhard  acknowledged  that  his  own  conduct 
had  borne  its  legitimate  results.  He  had  no  real  claim  to  filial  affec- 
tion ;  at  all  events,  not  to  the  degree  in  which  he  craved  it,  for  he 
had  lived  for  himself  alone. 

When  Irma  returned  and  asked  permission  to  visit  her  friend 
Emma,  he  nodded  assent.  He  had  boasted  that  nothing  could  in- 
terrupt him.  He  might  use  the  rule  for  himself,  but  not  for  others. 
He  had  told  his  child  the  story  of  his  life — who  knew  but  what 
his  untoward  interruption  would  efface  it  all  from  her  memory? 


140  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

SEATED  in  the  open  court  carriage,  Irma  rode  o'er  hill  and 
dale.  She  lay  back  on  the  cushions  ;  the  waitingmaid  and  the 
lackey  sat  on  the  back  seat. 

Emma's  sad  and  sudden  message  had  almost  paralyzed  her ;  but, 
now  that  she  was  in  the  carriage,  her  strength  returned.  Travel 
and  change  of  air  always  exerted  a  magic  influence  over  her. 

The  echo  of  her  father's  story  followed  her  during  a  great  part 
of  the  journey.  She  had  listened  with  great  interest,  although  the 
story  itself  had  made  but  a  faint  impression  upon  her.  An  inner 
voice  told  her :  These  matters  are  not  so  serious  or  important  as 
he  takes  them.  It  is  his  peculiar  temperament  that  causes  them 
to  affect  his  course  in  life.  It  would  not  be  so  with  another.  It 
was  enough  that  she  was  able  to  do  justice  to  his  eccentricity.  He 
could  hardly  expect  it  to  exert  any  decided  influence  upon  her. 
Emma's  fate  was  horrible,  maddening ;  but  her  father's  was  not. 
Much  of  his  life-trouble  was  mere  self-torment.  He  spoke  of  re- 
pose, and  yet  knew  it  not. 

\Yith  all  Irma's  affection  for  her  father,  she  had  really  so  little  in 
common  with  him,  that  the  painful  expression  that  played  about 
his  mouth,  while  he  told  her  his  history-,  simply  served  to  remind 
her  of  the  Laocoon. 

Irma  shook  her  head  quite  petulantly. 

What  a  chaos  is  the  world  ! 

A  mad  dog  destroys  a  life  and,  here  and  there,  solitary  beings 
are  tormenting  themselves  to  death.  Every  one  is  conscious  of 
some  fault  or  weakness  ;  all  seek  the  unattainable  and,  in  unend- 
ing attempts  and  trials,  life  is  spent.  In  the  midst  of  this  chaos, 
a  single  figure  appears.  It  is  full,  beautiful,  great,  sure  of  life 
and,  in  truth,  controls  life.  Irma  turned  back  as  if  to  say: 
"  Alas !  it  is  not  you,  father,  although  you  could  and  ought  to  be 
the  one.  The  king  alone  is  the  one  free  being  on  the  pinnacle  of 
life." 

A  smile  played  about  her  lips  while  she  thought  of  him.  She 
looked  up  at  the  blue  heavens  and,  forgetting  whither  she  was 
going,  felt  as  if  gentle  arms  were  carrying  her  away  over  hill  ind 
dale. 

An  eagle  was  winging  its  flight  far  above  the  mountain  tops. 
Irma's  eyes  followed  it  for  a  long  while.  She  ordered  the  driver 
to  stop  the  carriage,  and  the  sen-ant  alighted  in  order  to  receive 
her  ladyship's  orders.  She  motioned  him  to  mount  the  box  again 
and,  though  all  the  comforts  wealth  affords  were  hers,  stopped 
in  the  midst  of  wild  nature  to  watch  the  eagle  hovering  in  the  air, 
until  it  at  last  disappeared  in  the  clouds. 

••  If  one  must  die,  I  'd  like  to  die  thus,"  said  an  inner  voice,  "  fl\ 
,nto  heaven  and  be  no  more.  ' 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  141 

They  drove  on.  For  the  rest  of  the  journey,  Irma  did  not  utter 
a  word. 

It  was  towards  evening  when  the  lackey  said  :  "  We  've  reached 
th^  place." 

The  road  descended  towards  the  lake,  by  the  shore  of  which 
the  carriage  stopped.  The  convent  was  on  an  island  in  the  centre 
of  the  lake,  and  the  sounds  of  the  curfew  bells  filled  the  air.  The 
sun  was  still  visible  over  the  mountain  tops,  its  rays  were  almost 
horizontal,  and  the  dancing,  sparkling  waves  looked  like  so  many 
lights  swimming  to  and  fro.  The  surface  of  the  lake  was  rapidly 
assuming  a  golden  hue. 

At  the  sound  of  the  evening  bells,  the  lackey  and  the  postilion 
lifted  their  hats  and  the  waitingmaid  folded  her  hands.  Irma  also 
folded  her  hands,  but  did  not  pray.  She  thought  to  herself:  The 
sound  of  the  bells  is  pleasant  enough,  if  one  can  listen  to  them 
from  without,'  and  then  return  to  the  happy  world  ;  but  to  those 
who  are  within  the  convent,  it  is  a  daily  death-knell ;  for  life  such 
as  theirs,  is  death. 

Irma's  mood  was  not  in  sympathy  with  that  of  her  friend,  and 
she  did  her  best  to  feel  as  befitted  the  occasion. 

While  they  were  getting  the  boat  ready,  she  overheard  the 
lackey  speaking  with  another  servant  whose  face  she  remembered 
to  have  seen  at  court. 

She  heard  the  court  lackey  saying : 

"  My  master  's  been  here  for  some  days  and  has  been  waiting  for 
something ;  I  do  n't  know  what." 

Irma  would  have  liked  to  ask  with  whom  he  had  come,  but 
ii  sudden  fear  overpowered  her  and  she  was  unable  to  speak  a 
word. 

Accompanied  by  the  waitingmaid,  she  stepped  into  the  boat. 
An  old  boatman  and  his  daughter  rowed  the  rudderless  skiff. 
The  waters  of  the  lake  were  deep  and  dark.  The  sun  was  setting, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  western  mountains  were  reflected  in  dark 
outlines  on  the  hills  along  the  shore.  The  fresh-fallen  snow  lay 
on  the  glaciers,  whose  white  crests  contrasted  sharply  with  the 
wooded  hills  of  the  foreground  and  the  clear  blue  sky.  Below,  all 
was  as  silent  and  dusky  as  though  they  were  sailing  into  the  realm 
of  shadows. 

"Is  this  your  daughter?"  asked  Irma,  addressing  the  old  boat- 
man. 

He  nodded  a  glad  assent,  delighted  to  find  her  conversant  with 
the  -dialect  of  that  portion  of  the  country.  Her  intercourse  with 
Walpurga  had  kept  her  in  practice. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boatman,  "and  she  'd  like  to  go  into  service 
with  some  good  family.  She  can  sew  well  and — ' 

"  Remain  with  your  father ;  that  's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,' 
said  Irma  to  the  girl. 


142  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

They  rowed  on  in  silence. 

"  How  deep  is  the  lake  here  ?  "  enquired  Irma. 

"  Sixty  fathoms,  at  least." 

Irma's  hand  played  with  the  water,  and  she  was  pleased  with 
the  thought  that  human  beings  could  so  easily  and  boldly  move 
along  over  a  threatening,  watery  grave.  She  leaned  a  little  way 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  the  boatman  called  out  * 

"  Take  care,  miss  !  " 

"  i  can  swim,"  replied  Irma,  splashing  the  waves. 

"  That  's  all  very  well,"  said  the  old  man,  laughing.  "They  can 
al~.  swim  until  they  have  to,  and  then  all  's  over  ;  and  if  they 
happen  to  have  clothes  hanging  to  them,  mighty  few  can  swim.'; 

"  You  're  right  there.     Our  gay  frippery  would  drag  us  down.'' 

The  old  man  did  not  understand  her  and  made  no  reply. 

She  was  quite  excited  and  asked :  "  Have  many  persons  been 
drowned  in  this  lake  ?  " 

"  Very  few ;  but  just  below  us,  there  's  the  body  of  a  young 
man.  twenty-one  years  old." 

"  How  was  he  lost  ?  " 

"  They  say  he  'd  been  drinking  too  freely,  but  I  think  that  he 
had  a  sweetheart  in  the  convent  over  there.  It 's  a  good  thing  she 
do  n't  know  of  it." 

Irma  looked  down  into  the  waves,  while  the  old  man  continued  : 

"  And  over  there  by  the  rock  the  trunk  of  a  tree  struck  a  wood- 
cutter and  hurled  him  into  the  lake.  Over  there  by  the  flood-gate, 
a  milkmaid,  fifteen  years  old,  happened  to  get  into  the  current 
while  the  drift  logs  were  whirling  along,  and  by  the  time  her  body 
reached  the  lake,  every  bit  of  clothing  had  been  torn  from  it  by 
the  logs." 

"Do  n't  tell  such  frightful  stories,"  said  the  waitingmaid  to  the 
man. 

Irma  looked  up  at  the  steep  mountains  and  asked  : 

"  Could  one  climb  up  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  they  'd  find  it  mighty  hard  work  ;  still,  wherever  there 
are  trees,  man  can  climb." 

Irma  looked  down  into  the*  lake,  and  then  up  at  the  mountains. 
One  can  lose  one's  self  in  the  world.  "  How  would  it  be  if  one 
were  to  do  so  ?  "  said  the  voice  within  her. 

She  stood  up  in  the  boat.     The  old  man  exclaimed  : 

"  Sit  down  !  there  's  danger  if  you  stir  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  I  shall  not  move,"  said  Irma,  and  she  really  stood  erect  in  the 
unsteady  little  boat. 

"  By  your  leave,  the  beautiful  young  lady  surely  does  n't  mean  to 
enter  the  convent?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  'd  be  sorry." 

"Why  would  you  be  sorry?  Don't  the  nuns  lead  a  pleasant 
and  peaceful  life?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  143 

"Oh  yes,  they  do  ;  but  it  is  a  life  in  which  nothing  happens." 

As  if  obeying  a  higher  summons,  Irma  sat  down  and  immedi- 
ately stood  up  again.  The  boat  reeled. 

"A  life  in  which  nothing  happens" — the  words*touched  a  chord 
in  her  own  heart.  With  her,  the  pride  and  strength  of  youth 
rebelled  against  sacrificing  one's  life  in  such  a  manner.  It  is  a 
life  in  which  nothing  happens:  whether  it  be,  like  her  father's, 
spent  in  solitary  thought,  or,  like  that  of  the  nun,  in  common 
devotion.  Are  we  no*  placed  upon  earth  so  that  we  may  call  rill 
our  own — come  joy,  come  grief;  come  mirth,  come  sadness — a 
life  in  which  nothing  happens  is  not  for  me. 

Filled  with  such  thoughts  she  stepped  ashore  and,  while  walking 
up  the  avenue  of  lindens  that  led  to  the  convent,  heard  the  boat- 
man fastening  his  skiff  by  the  chain. 

She  inquired  for  Sister  Euphrosyne.  The  nuns  were  all  at 
vespers.  Irma  also  repaired  to  the  chapel,  in  which  the  everlasting 
lamp  was  the  only  light.  Although  the  sendee  was  over,  the 
sisters  were  still  kneeling  on  the  floor.  At  last  they  arose,  looking 
like  so  many  ghostly  figures  stepping  out  from  chaotic  darkness. 

Irma  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  the  portress  told  her  that 
she  would  not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  Emma  that  day,  as  the 
sisters  were  not  permitted  to  receive  any  communication,  or  con- 
verse with  any  one,  after  vespers.  Irma,  in  the  meanwhile,  was 
lodged  in  the  convent. 

It  was  a  mild  September  night.  Wrapped  in  her  plaid,  Irma  sat 
out  on  the  landing  until  a  late  hour.  Her  thoughts  were  lost  in 
the  illimitable.  She  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  thinking  of,  and 
yet,  as  if  wafted  towards  her  on  the  air,  she  would  now  and  then 
seem  to  hear  the  words :  "  A  life  in  which  nothing  happens." 

On  the  following  morning,  after  early  mass,  Irma  was  permitted  to 
visit  her  friend.  She  was  frightened  when  she  saw  Emma,  and 
yet  it  was  the  same  mild  countenance,  only  terribly  disfigured  by 
the  closely  fitting  hood  that  completely  covered  the  hair  and  gave 
the  face  greater  prominence. 

After  the  first  outburst  of  grief  and  sympathy  that  followed  the 
recital  of  her  sad  affliction,  Emma  at  last  said  to  Irma,  who  had 
again  and  again  pressed  her  to  her  heart : 

"  Your  embraces  are  so  passionate.  I  know  you  will  never  be 
able  to  learn  humility.  You  cannot ;  it  is  not  in  your  nature.  But 
\ou  should  acquire  equanimity.  You  could  never  enter  a  convent, 
Irma,  and  never  ought  to ;  for  you  would  long  to  return  to  the 
world.  You  must  become  a  good  wife,  but  do  not  imagine  that 
your  ideal  will  ever  be  realized.  Our  existence  heVe  is  fragmentary 
and  full  of  misery.  Life  here  below  is  not  intended  to  be  beautiful 
and  complete.  But,  Irma,  take  heed  you  do  not  attempt  to  loosen 
»  barrier,  or  to  overstep  it.  Draw  back  while  you  are  still  on  this 
side  !  " 


144  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Emma  did  not  mention  the  king's  name.  There  was  a  long 
pause.  Irma  felt  as  if  their  present  surroundings  must  stifle  her. 

Emma  spoke  of  what  had  happened  but  a  few  weeks  ago,  as  if 
decades  had  parsed  in  the  meanwhile.  She  discoursed  to  her 
friend  of  the  strength  that  lay  in  continuous  devotion ;  how  it 
lengthened  the  hours  into  years  full  of  placid  victor}-  over  the 
world.  She  felt  happy  that  it  was  possible,  even  on  earth,  to  lay 
aside  one's  name  and  memories,  and  to  lead  an  existence  which, 
without  one  steep  step,  gradually  led  one  to  eternal  bliss.  Emma, 
however,  complained  that  they  would  not  allow  her  to  take  the 
veil,  and  resented  it  as  tyranny  that  she  was  only  permitted  to  re- 
main as  a  serving  sister  without  vows. 

"It  is  right  that  you  should  not,"  exclaimed  Irma;  "I  think 
Bronnen  loves  you,  but  he  's  a  man  who  respects  existing  facts. 
His  moral  character  would  lead  him  to  repress,  rather  than  mani- 
fest, warm  feeling  towards  an  affianced  bride.  He  deserves  you. 
I  don't  say  that  you  should  now — How  could  you  ?  How  would 
he  dare  ?  You  should  remain  your  own  mistress  and,  after  you  've 
spent  a  year  or  more  in  the  convent,  you  may,  with  that  excellent 
man,  lead  a  life  which,  if  void  of  transports,  will  be  none  the  less 
true  and  beautiful.  All  I  can  say  to  you  now  is :  Do  n't  fetter 
your  future.  No  one  should  take  a  vow  that  binds  him  for  life, 
that,  on  the  very  morrow,  might  seal  his  lips  and  make  him  a  slave, 
a  liar,  a  hypocrite  or  a  deceiver,  in  his  own  eyes." 

"  Irma,"  exclaimed  Emma,  "what  bad  advice  you  are  giving  me. 
Is  that  the  language  used  at  court  ?  Oh  forgive  me  for  speaking 
to  you  so  !  It  was  the  old  Emma  that  did  it ;  not  I.  Forgive  me, 
I  pray  you,  forgive  me  !  " 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  at  Irma's  feet. 

"Stand  up,"  said  Irma,  "I  've  nothing  to  forgive.  I  will  speak 
more  calmly.  You  see,  dear  Emma,  it  is  fortunate  for  you  that 
you  cannot  take  the  vow.  A  fearful  blow  has  prostrated  you  ;  but 
if  you  remain  free  in  your  seclusion,  your  load  will  gradually  lighten 
and  your  wounds  will  heal.  Then,  should  the  world  call  you,  you 
are  free  to  return  to  it.  This  should  be  a  place  of  refuge  for  you, 
and  not  a  prison." 

"Ah  yes,"  said  Emma,  with  a  smile,  "you  must  of  course  think 
so,  but  I — I  do  not  care  to  see  the  world  which  no  longer  contains 
him  who  was  dearer  to  me  than  life.  You  cannot  realize  what  it  is 
to  be  betrothed  on  earth,  and  be  obliged  to  wait  for  eternal  union 
in  heaven.  I  have  prayed  God  to  take  my  heart  from  me  and 
banish  every  selfish  desire,  and  He  has  hearkened  unto  me.  It  u 
tyrannical  to  attempt  to  force  our  opinions  upon  others.  Do  you 
still  remember,  Irma,  the  first  time  we  read  the  story  of  Odysseus, 
and  how  he  had  them  bind  him  to  the  mast  so  that  he  might  listen 
to  the  songs  of  the  syrens  and  yet  not  be  able  to  follow  them  ? 
Do  you  still  remember  the  remark  you  then  made  ? 


v 


ON  THE  HEIGi 


"I  've  quite  forgotten  it." 

"  '  Much-be-praised  Odysseus,'  said  you,  'was  a  weakling",  not  a 
hero.  A  hero  must  not  suffer  himself  to  be  bound  by  external 
fetters  ;  he  must  resist  everything  by  his  inner  strength.'  Even 
then,  I  felt  how  strong  you  were.  Odysseus  was  only  a  heathen, 
and  knew  nothing  of  the  eternal  law.  I  rejoice  in  that  law  ;  1 
cling  to  that  rock.  I  long  for  the  divine,  the  eternal  bond  ;  it  will 
support  me  if  I  sink.  I  do  not  wish  to  return  to  the  world.  I 
wish  to  fetter  myself,  and  can  it  be  that  men  who  claim  to  be  free 
dare  forbid  others  to  tread  the  path  that  leads  to  perfection  —  to  the 
true  eternal  life  ?  Is  not  that  tyrannical  and  godless?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  who  forbids  you  ?  " 

"  The  law  of  the  state.  It  has  ordered  this  convent  to  be  closed 
and  forbids  its  taking  any  more  young  nuns." 

"  And  does  the  law  say  that?  " 

"Yes." 

"The  king  shall  not  allow  it." 

Irma  spoke  so  loudly  that  her  words  were  echoed  back  from  the 
vaulted  ceiling  of  the  cell. 

Emma's  glance  was  fastened  on  Irma  —  if  it  only  could  be 
brought  about  ! 

The  two  maidens  had  no  time  to  exchange  a  word  on  the  subject, 
for,  at  that  moment,  the  abbess  sent  for  them. 

The  abbess  addressed  Irma,  just  as  if  she  had  overheard  the  last 
words  of  the  latter.  With  gentle  voice,  but  positive  manner,  she 
complained  of  the  tyranny  of  the  free-thinkers  —  whom  she  did  not 
judge,  but  simply  pitied  —  arid  maintained  that  the  attempt  to 
destroy  ancient  and  holy  institutions  was  revolting. 

Irma's  countenance  glowed  with  excitement.  She  again  said 
that  the  law  must  be  repealed,  and  that  she  would  exert  all  her  in- 
fluence to  bring  about  that  end.  She  offered  to  write  to  the  king 
at  once.  The  abbess  gladly  accepted  the  proffered  service  and 
Irma  wrote  : 

"  Your  Majesty  :  I  write  to  you  from  the  convent,  but  I  am  not 
a  nun.  I  believe  my  talent  does  not  lie  in  that  way.  But  what 
laws  are  these  that  forbid  a  maiden  from  taking  the  eternal  vow  ? 
Is  that  freedom  ?  Is  it  justice  ?  What  is  it  ?  Your  Majesty  will, 
I  trust,  pardon  my  agitation.  I  am  writing  with  convent  ink  on 
convent  paper,  and  it  is  not  the  first  time  that  such  ink  and  such 
paper  have  been  used  in  the  service  of  freedom. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  one  set  of  human  beings  can  forbid  others  to 
live  together  in  seclusion  ? 

"  Quacks  cannot  create  life  or  happiness  ;  should  they,  therefore, 
De  allowed  to  forbid  unhappiness  from  effecting  its  own  cure  ? 

"  Your  Majesty's  great  mind  cannot  suffer  such  barbarism,  and 
t  is  barbarous,  although  hedged  about  by  culture. 


146  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  am  aware,  Your  Majesty,  that  I  have  not  yet  made  my 
meaning  clear.  I  shall  endeavor  to  do  so. 

"  I  am  here  in  the  convent. 

"  Emma,  the  woman  whom  I  love  above  all  others — I  believe  1 
have  already  spoken  of  her  to  Your  Majesty — wishes  to  take  the 
veil.  From  her  point  of  view,  she  is  in  the  right.  Dogs  will  go 
mad,  although  the  dog-tax  be  paid.  A  mad  dog  killed  her  affianced 
and  she  now  desires  to  renounce  the  world.  Who  dare  prevent  it  ? 
And  yet  the  law  of  the  state  commands  that  this  convent  shall  die 
out,  and  forbids  its  receiving  nuns. 

"  Your  Majesty  dare  not  permit  this.  Your  eye  takes  in  all  at  a 
glance  ;  your  life  is  the  nation's  history.  You  must  teach  these 
journeymen  to  be  greater-minded  than  they  now  are.  They  must 
abolish  this  lawr ;  indeed,  they  must. 

"  Pardon  my  language,  Your  Majesty ;  but  I  cannot  help  myself. 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  your  deputy.  I  feel  that  your  great  mind  resents 
such  pettiness  as  an  insult. 

"  I  hope  to  see  Your  Majesty  soon  again  and,  meanwhile,  send 
my  most  respectful  greetings. 

"IRMA    VOX   WlLPEXORT." 

Without  being  observed,  Irma  enclosed  the  four-petaled  clover- 
leaf  with  the  letter. 

While  Irma  sat  in  the  boat  that  took  her  back  to  the  shore, 
she  was  filled  with  pride.  She  felt  that  she  had  instigated,  if  not 
accomplished,  a  beautiful  and  noble  act  in  the  sen-ice  of  freedom 
and  was  determined  that  it  should  be  carried  out. 

The  old  boatman  was  glad  to  see  her  again.  He  rowed  lustily, 
but  did  not  speak  a  word.  Now  and  then,  he  would  smile  to  him- 
self, as  if  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  was  carrying  a  young  soul 
away  from  the  realm  of  shadows. 

In  the  distance  there  was  a  skiff  and,  in  it.  a  man  clad  in  a  green 
hunting  dress.  He  .waved  his  hat  and  bowed. 

Absorbed  in  thought,  Irma  was  gazing  into  the  lake,  when  her 
maid  drew  her  attention  to  the  other  boat. 

Irma  started. 

"  Is  it  not  the  king?" 

Thinking  that  he  had  not  yet  been  observed,  the  hunter  fired  off 
his  gun,  the  report  of  which  was  echoed  again  and  again  from  the 
hills.  He  then  waved  his  hat  once  more.  With  trembling  hand, 
Irma  waved  her  white  handkerchief  as  a  token  of  recognition. 

The  skiff  approached.  Irma's  expression  rapidly  changed  from 
one  of  joy  to  that  of  disappointment. 

It  was  not  the  king.     It  was  Baron  Schoning  who  greeted  her. 

He  sprang  into  the  boat,  kissed  her  trembling  hand  and  told  her 
how  happy  he  was  to  meet  her  there. 

They  alighted.  The  Baron  offered  his  arm  to  Irma  and  they 
walked  along  the  bank,  the  maid  going  before.  In  the  distance. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  147 

Irma  could  see  the  lackey  who,  on  the  previous  day,  had  been 
speaking  to  hers.  Had  not  the  servant  said  that  his  master  had 
been  waiting  here  for  a  long  time  ?  Had  not  Baron  Schoning,  be- 
fore this,  been  open  in  his  attentions  to  her?  His-words  soon  re- 
lieved her  of  all  doubt  on  that  score. 

"  We  are  alone  here,  in  the  presence  only  of  the  mountains,  the 
lake  and  the  heavens.  Dearest  Countess !  May  I  speak  of  some- 
thing that  lies  near  my  heart  and  which  I  have  for  a  long  while 
desired  to  tell  you  ?  " 

She  silently  nodded  assent. 

"  Well  then,  permit  me  to  tell  you  that  the  court  is  not  the  right 
place  for  you." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  shall  return  there ;  but  why  do  you 
think  me  out  of  place  there  ?  " 

"  Because  there  is  something  in  you  which  will  always  prevent 
you  from  feeling  at  home  there.  You  are  surprised  to  hear  me, 
the  jester,  the  court-warbler,  speak  thus.  I  know  very  well  I  bear 
that  title ;  but  believe  me,  Countess,  while  they  imagine  they  are 
playing  with  me,  I  am  amusing  myself  at  their  expense.  You, 
Countess,  will  never  feel  at  home  at  court.  You  do  not  accept 
that  life  and  its  customs,  as  fixed  and  settled.  You  interpret  it  ac- 
cording to  your  own  peculiar  views  ;  your  mind  cannot  wear  a  uni- 
form ;  your  soul  utters  its  deepest  feelings  in  its  own  dialect,  and 
when  your  utterances  get  abroad  in  the  liveried  world,  they  find  it 
exceedingly  original,  but  strange  and — no  one  knows  it  better  than 
I — you  have  not,  and  never  will  have  aught  in  common  with  those 
who  surround  you." 

"  I  should  not  have  believed  that  you  could  thus  look  into  my 
heart ;  but  I  thank  you." 

"  I  am  not  looking  into  your  heart ;  I  live  in  it.  O  Countess  ! 
Oh  !  thou  child-like  and  all-loving  heart,  tremble  not !  Suffer  me 
to  clasp  this  hand  in  mine,  while  I  tell  you  that  I,  too,  am  a 
stranger  there,  and  have  resolved  to  retire  from  court  and  live  for 
myself  on  yonder  patrimonial  estate  of  mine.  Irma,  will  you  ren- 
der my  life  a  thousand  fold  happier  than  it  can  otherwise  be  ?  Will 
you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

It  was  long  before  Irma  could  answer  him.     At  last  she  said : 

"  My  friend — yes,  my  friend — on  yonder  island  there  lives  a 
friend  of  mine  who  is  dead,  both  to  herself  and  me.  Fate  deals 
kindly  with  me  and  sends  me  another  in  her  stead.  I  thank  you 
— but — I  am  so  confused — perhaps  more  than —  But  look,  dear 
Baron,  at  the  little  cottage  half  way  up  the  mountain.  I  would  be 
content  to  live  there — to  grow  my  cabbages,  milk  my  goats,  plant 
my  hemp,  make  my  clothes — and  could  be  happy,  desiring  noth- 
ing, forgetting  the  world  and  forgotten  by  it." 

"You  jest,  clear  Countess;  you  are  creating  an  ideal  whose 
bright  colors  will  soon  grow  dim." 


148  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  do  not  jest.  I  could  live  alone  while  laboring  for  my  daily 
bread,  but  not  as  the  mistress  of  a  castle,  and  surrounded  by  the 
trifles  and  the  frippery  of  the  fashionable  world.  To  dress  for  the 
mere  sake  of  seeing  one's  self  in  the  glass,  is  not  to  my  taste.  In 
yonder  cottage,  I  could  live  without  a  mirror.  I  need  not  look  at 
myself,  nor  need  another  look  at  me  ;  but  if  I  am  to  live  with  the 
world,  I  must  be  wholly  with  it ;  at  the  reigning  centre,  in  the 
metropolis,  or  traveling.  I  must  have  all  or  nothing.  Nothing 
else  will  make  me  happy.  Nothing  half-and-half  or  intermediate 
will  satisfy  me." 

Irma's  tone  was  so  determined  that  the  Baron  saw  how  thor- 
oughly in  earnest  she  was,  and  that  her  words  meant  more  than 
mere  caprice  or  sport. 

"  I  must  either  subject  myself  to  the  world,"  said  she,  "or,  de- 
spising it,  put  it  beneath  me.  I  must  either  be  perfectly  indiffer- 
ent and  regardless  of  the  impression  I  produce  upon  others,  or 
else  afraid  of  every  glance,  even  my  own." 

The  Baron  was  silent,  and  evidently  at  a  loss  for  words.  At 
last  he  said : 

"  I  would  gladly  have  gone  to  your  father's  house,  but  I  know 
that  he  dislikes  men  of  my  class.  I  waited  for  you  here,  knowing 
that  you  would  come  to  your  friend.  Pray  answer  me  another 
question :  Do  you  intend  to  return  to  court  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Irma,  now,  for  the  first  time,  firmly  resolved  upon 
returning.  "  It  were  ungrateful  to  act  otherwise.  Ungrateful  to 
the  queen  and  to — the  king  and  all  my  friends.  I  feel  sure,  my 
friend,  that  I  am  not  yet  mature  enough  to  lead  a  life  in  which 
nothing  happens." 

They  came  to  a  seat. 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down  with  me  ?"  said  Irma  to  the  Baron. 

They  seated  themselves. 

"  When  did  you  leave  the  capital?  " 

"Five  days  ago." 

"  And  was  everything  going  on  as  usual  ?  " 

"  Alas,  not  everything.  Doctor  Gunther  has  met  with  a  sad  af- 
fliction. Professor  Korn,  his  son-in-law,  died  suddenly,  having 
poisoned  himself  while  dissecting  a  corpse." 

••  While  dissecting  a  corpse  ?  "  exclaimed  Irma.  "  We  all  die  of 
the  poison  of  decay,  but  not  so  suddenly ;  those  on  yonder  island 
and  we — all  of  us." 

"  You  are  very  bitter." 

"  Not  at  all.  My  head  is  filled  with  the  strangest  fancies.  I  be- 
came acquainted  with  a  great  law  over  there." 

"  The  law  of  renunciation  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  ;  the  justification  of  fashion." 

"  You  are  mocking." 

"  By  no  means.  Fashion  is  the  charter  of  human  liberty  and 
the  journal  of  fashion  is  humanity's  greatest  boon." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  149 

"What  an  odd  conceit !  " 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  the  simple  truth.  The  frequency  with  which 
a  man  changes  the  material,  cut  and  color  of  his  clothes,  proves 
his  claim  to  culture.  It  is  man  alone  who  constantly  clothes  him- 
self differently  and  anew.  The  tree  retains  its  bark,  the  animal  its 
hide,  and,  as  the  national  and  clerical  costumes  are  both  stereo- 
typed, as  it  were,  those  who  use  them  are  regarded  as  belonging 
to  an  inferior,  or  less  civilized  class." 

The  Baron  looked  at  Irma,  wonderingly.  He  was  glad,  at 
heart,  that  she  had  candidly  given  him  the  mitten.  He  could  not 
have  satisfied  so  restless  and  exacting  a  nature  that  constantly  re- 
quired intellectual  fireworks  for  its  amusement ;  and  she,  more- 
over, took  delight  in  her  absurd  ways.  All  at  once,  he  saw  noth- 
ing but  the  shadows  in  Irma's  character.  An  hour  ago,  he  had 
seen  only  the  bright  side  and  had  regarded  her  as  a  vision  of  light 
itself.  She  had  just  visited  a  friend  about  to  take  the  veil,  had  just 
listened  to  a  proposal  of  marriage — how  could  she  possibly  indulge 
in  such  strange  notions  immediately  afterward  ? 

Baron  Schoning  told  her  that  he  had  ordered  photographs  of 
Walpurga  and  the  prince. 

"  Ah,  Walpurga,"  said  Irma,  as  if  suddenly  remembering  some- 
thing. 

The  Baron  politely  took  his  leave  and  rowed  back  across  the 
lake. 

Irma  took  the  road  that  led  homeward.  She  wished  to  visit 
Walpurga's  relatives  and  enquired  as  to  the  route  towards  the  lake 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  They  told  her  that  a  carriage 
could  not  get  there,  and  that  the  only  way  to  reach  the  point  was 
on  horseback.  Irma  took  the  direct  road  for  home. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

{ *  OOMETHING  ails  me  !  It  always  seems  as  if  some  one  were 
O  calling  me,  and  I  can't  help  looking  round  to  see  who  it  is. 
The  Countess  must  be  thinking  of  us  all  the  time.  Ah  me,  she  's 
the  best  creature  in  the  world." 

Whilst  Walpurga,  for  many  days,  thus  lamented  Irma's  depart- 
ure, the  others  at  the  palace  rarely  thought  of  her.  The  place  we 
leave,  be  it  to  journey  in  this  or  to  the  other  world,  is  speedily 
filled.  In  the  palace,  they  tolerate  neither  vacancies  nor  senti- 
ment. There,  life  is  a  part  of  history ;  and  history,  as  we  all  know, 
never  stands  still. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  continued  to  teach  Walpurga  how  to 
write,  and  the  latter  did  not  understand  her,  when  she  said  : 

"  The  quality  are  fond  of  taking  up  all  sorts  of  things,  but  we 
must  finish  what  we  begin.  I  Ve  finished  many  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery, of  which  the  hand  that  was  kissed  for  it  scarcely  worked 
a  couple  of  stitches  ;  but  that 's  in  the  order  of  things." 


i$o  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Although  Mademoiselle  Kramer  found  everything  in  order  that 
\vas  done  by  the  quality,  she,  nevertheless,  had  a  habit  of  speaking 
of  such  things  to  her  inferiors,  not  with  the  hope  of  being  under- 
stood by  them,  but  merely  to  relieve  her  mind. 

The  child  was  well  and  hearty.  Day  after  day  passed  in  quiet 
routine,  and  now  Walpurga  was  richly  recompensed  for  the  ab- 
sence of  Countess  Irma.  The  queen  was  permitted  to  have  the 
nurse  and  child  about  her  for  several  hours  every  day. 

While  Irma  had  gone  forth  to  seek  rest  and  quiet,  but  had  found 
chaos  instead,  the  queen's  life  had  become  serene  and  happy. 
Her  recent  experience  of  life's  trials  had  been  a  novel  and  difficult 
one;  but  now  her  mind  was  at  rest,  her  health  restored.  She 
would  look  at  her  child  and,  when  she  spoke,  Walpurga  would  fold 
her  hands  and  listen  in  silence.  The  nurse  did  not  understand  all 
that  was  said  but,  nevertheless,  sympathized  with  what  was  going 
on.  The  queen  endeavored  to  console  Doctor  Gunther  in  his  af- 
fliction, and  spoke  to  him  of  the  consolation  that  the  mother  could 
find  in  her  child  :  "  In  spite  of  all  life's  contradictions  and  enigmas," 
said  she,  "there  is  yet  the  one  glad  thought  that  ever)'  child  bears 
within  it  the  possibility  of  the  highest  human  development." 

The  queen,  while  speaking,  looked  around  at  her  child,  and 
Walpurga  said,  in  a  gentle  voice : 

"  Look  at  our  child  ;  it 's  laughing  for  the  first  time.  It 's  seven 
weeks  old  to-day." 

"  I  Ve  seen  my  child's  first  smile,  and  its  father  is  not  here." 

"  Do  n't  make  such  a  long  face,"  said  Walpurga  ;  "just  keep  on 
laughing  and  he  '11  laugh,  too  ;  your  pleasant  glances  will  bide  in 
his  face." 

The  child  kept  smiling  until  the  doctor  requested  them  not  to 
excite  it  any  more.  He  said  that  Walpurga  was  right,  and  that  if 
one  looks  at  an  infant  kindly  it  has  the  effect  of  imprinting  a  sweet 
expression  upon  its  features. 

From  that  day  forward,  the  child  never  saw  a  sad  look  on  its 
mother's  face. 

It  was  only  when  she  spoke  of  persons  that  Walpurga  could 
talk  volubly  and  continuously.  Countess  Irma  was  therefore  fre- 
quently the  topic  of  conversation.  But  this  subject  was  soon 
exhausted,  and  when  the  queen  woul/1  say :  "  Why  are  you  silent  ? 
I  hear  that  you  can  talk  to  the  child  so  prettily  and  carry  on  all 
sorts  of  fun  with  him,"  Walpurga  persistently  remained  silent. 

The  queen  made  Walpurga  tell  her  her  history.  It  required 
much  questioning  to  get  at  the  entire  story,  for  Walpurga  could 
not  narrate  it  in  a  continuous  strain,  as  she  had  never  thought  of 
her  life  as  a  connected  whole.  Everything  had  gone  on  of  its  own 
accord,  as  it  were,  and  without  requiring  one  to  stop  and  think. 
While  telling  her  story,  she  was  as  anxious  as  if  before  a  court  of 
justice. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  151 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  fall  in  love  with  your  husband  ?  Do 
you  love  him  with  all  your  heart  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  He  's  my  husband  and  there  is  n't  a  bad  drop  of 
blood  in  him.  He  's  a  little  awkward, — I  mean  unhandy, — but 
only  when  others  are  about.  He  's  never  been  much  among 
people.  He  grew  up  in  a  one-storied  house  and  until  he  was 
twenty-two  years  old  had  seen  nothing  but  trees;  but  no  work  's 
too  hard  for  him  and  whatever  you  put  him  to,  he  does  his  duly. 
He  's  not  so  dull,  either;  but  he  doesn't  show  it  to  the  worH; 
with  me,  he  can  talk  well  enough,  and  he  's  satisfied  as  long  as  I 
know  he  's  the  right  sort  of  man.  It  takes  my  Hansei  a  long 
while  to  make  up  his  mind,  but  when  he  's  made  it  up,  he  's  always 
right.  You  see,  dear  queen,  I  might  have  got  a  much  cleverer 
husband  ;  my  playmate  has  a  hunter,  and  his  comrade  was  after 
me  for  a  long  while  ;  but  I  did  n't  want  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  him,  for  he  's  too  much  in  love  with  himself.  He  once  rowed 
over  the  lake  with  me,  and  was  all  the  time  looking  at  himself  in 
the  water,  and  twisting  his  moustache  and  making  mouths,  and  so 
thought  I  to  myself:  If  your  clothes  were  made  of  gold,  I  would  n't 
have  you.  And  when  father  was  drowned  in  the  lake,  Hansei  was 
at  hand  and  did  everything  about  the  house.  He  'd  go  out  in  his 
skiff  and  bring  in  fish, 'and,  while  I  and  mother  would  sell  'em,  he  'd 
work  in  the  forest.  Father  was  also  woodcutter  and  fisherman,  at 
the  same  time.  And  so  Hansei  was  there  a  full  half  year  ;  no  one 
bid  him  come  and  no  one  told  him  to  go,  but  he  was  there  and  was 
honest  and  good  and  never  gave  me  an  unkind  word  ;  and  so  we 
were  married,  and,  thank  God,  we  're  happy  and,  through  our 
good  prince,  we  '11  have  something  of  our  own.  We  've  got  it 
already,  and  it 's  no  easy  matter  for  a  husband  to  give  his  wife 
away  for  a  year.  But  Hansei  did  n't  waste  many  words  over  it. 
If  a  thing  's  right  and  must  be,  he  only  nods — this  way — and  then 
it 's  done.  Forgive  me,  dear  queen,  for  telling  you  all  this  silly 
stuff,  but  you  asked  me." 

"  No,  I  am  heartily  glad  that  there  are  simple-minded,  happy 
beings  in  this  world.  The  worldly-wise  think  they  prove  their 
infinite  wisdom  when  they  say:  'There  are  no  simple-minded, 
happy  people,  and  the  country  folk  are  not  nearly  so  good  as  we 
imagine '." 

"No  more  they  are,"  said  Walpurga,  eagerly;  "there  aren't 
any  worse  people  than  some  of  those  out  our  way.  There  are 
good  ones,  of  course ;  but  there  are  wicked  and  envious  an  d 
thieving  and  lazy  and  good-for-nothing  and  godless  creatures 
besides ;  and  Zenza  and  Thomas  are  among  the  worst,  but  I  can't 
help  it." 

Walpurga  imagined  that  the  queen  must  know  of  the  paidon, 
and  they  should  not  say  of  her  that  she  had  not  told  the  truth. 
The  queen  felt  grieved  at  Walpurga's  vehemence  and  the  serious 
charges  she  made  against  the  people  of  her  neighborhood. 


152  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Alter  a  little  while,  she  said  to  Walpurga  : 

"  They  tell  me  you  sing  so  beautifully.  Sing  something  for  me» 
or,  rather,  for  the  child." 

"  No,  dear  queen,  I  can't  do  it.  I  'd  like  to,  but  I  can't.  I 
do  n't  know  any  but  silly  songs.  The  good  ones  are  all  church 
songs." 

'  Sing  me  one  of  those  that  you  call  silly  songs." 
'  No,  I  can't ;  they  're  lonely  songs." 
4  What  do  you  mean  by  lonely  songs  ?  " 
'  I  do  n't  know,  but  that 's  what  they  call  'em." 
'  Ah,  I  understand :  they  can  only  be  sung  when  one  is  solitary 
and  alone." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that 's  it ;  the  queen  's  right."  . 
Although  the  queen  endeavored  to  induce  her  to  sing,  Walpurga 
protested  that  she  could  not  and  finally  became  so  agitated  that 
she  burst  into  tears.  The  queen  experienced  some  difficulty  in 
pacifying  her,  but  succeeded  at  last,  and  then  Walpurga,  taking 
the  child  with  her,  returned  to  her  room. 

On  the  following  day  Walpurga  was  again  summoned  to  the 
queen,  who  said:  "You  're  right,  Walpurga.  You  can't  sing  to 
me.  I  've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  you.  The  bird  on  the 
tree  does  n't  sing  at  one's  bidding.  Free  nature  cannot  be  directed 
by  a  baton.  You  need  n't  sing  for  me.  I  shall  not  ask  it  of  you 
again." 

Walpurga  had  intended  to  sing  to  the  queen  that  day.  She  had 
chosen  her  prettiest  songs,  and  now  the  queen  actually  ordered  her 
,iot  to  sing,  and  even  compared  her  to  a  bird.  "Palace  folk," 
thought  she,  "are  queer  folk." 

"I  understand,"  continued  the  queen,  "that  in  your  neighbor- 
hood they  believe  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Do  you  believe  in 
her,  too  ?  " 

"  Believe  in  her  ?  I  do  n't  know,  but  they  tell  of  her.  Father 
saw  her  three  days  before  he  died,  and  that  was  a  sure  sign  that 
he  would  soon  die.  They  say,  too,  that  she  's  the  Lady  of  Wai- 
deck." 

'  Who  is  the  Lady  of  Waldeck  ?  " 
She  's  the  Lady  of  Worth." 
What  is  Worth  ?  " 

'  A  bit  of  land  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  with  water  all  round  it." 
Do  you  mean  an  island  ?  " 

Yes,  an  island ;  we  sometimes  call  it  that,  too." 
'•  And  what  is  the  story  of  the  Lady  of  Waldeck  ?  " 
"  Once  upon  a  time,  many  thousand  years  ago,  there  was  a  man, 
ind  he  was  a  knight  by  the  name  of  Waldeck,  and  he  was  a 
irusader.     He  and  lots  of  emperors  and  kings  went  off  to  our 
Savior's  grave  in  the  Holy  Land.     He  left  his  wife  at  home  and 
before  he  went  away,  he  said  to  her :  '  You  're  good  and  you  '11 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  153 

remain  true  to  me ; '  and  when,  after  many  years,  he  returned, 
quite  black  with  the  eastern  sun,  he  found  his  wife  with  another 
man,  and  so  he  bound  the  two  together,  put  them  in  a  boat  and 
rowed  them  over  to  Worth  where  he  left  them  ;  and  there  they  lay 
and  had  nothing  to  eat,  and  nothing  to  drink,  and  were  tied 
together  and  died  of  hunger,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  ate  them. 
They  were  adulterers  and  it  served  them  right ;  but  he  was 
horrible  for  all.  And  even  nowadays,  on  spirit  nights,  you  can 
often  see  a  little'  blue  flame  on  the  island  of  Worth,  and  they  say 
that  the  Lady  of  Waldeck's  soul  has  passed  into  a  nymph  and 
that  she  must  wander  about." 

Such  was  Walpurga's  story. 

"  I  have  n't  frightened  you,  I  hope  ?  "  said  she,  anxiously,  as  she 
observed  the  queen's  fixed  gaze.  "That's  what  they  say.  But 
may  be  it 's  only  talk,  after  all." 

"  No,  no.  Do  n't  be  anxious  about  that,"  cried  the  queen.  "  So 
many  different  thoughts  pass  through  my  mind." 

"  Like  enough  ;  it  's  very  hard  to  be  the  housewife,  with  so  big  a 
house  as  this  to  keep,  and  so  many  folk  in  it." 

The  queen  laughed  heartily. 

Walpurga  did  not  know  that  she  had  said  anything  odd  or 
droll  and  was  therefore  surprised  at  the  effect  of  her  remarks  ;  but 
she  soon  became  satisfied  that  all  she  said  was  quoted.  This 
made  her  quite  shy,  although  she  would  now  and  then  give  way 
to  fits  of  extravagance  and  would,  at  such  moments,  delight  in  her 
own  odd  freaks,  for  they  always  provoked  a  smile.  While  the 
queen  aimed  to  be  as  simple  as  possible  in  her  intercourse  with 
W7alpurga,  the  latter  was,  with  each  succeeding  day,  becoming 
more  artificial  and  affected.  She  copied  herself  and  her  whilom 
naivett?.  When  she  knew  that  the  queen  was  within  hearing,  she 
would  repeat  the  wondrous  combination  of  words  with  which  she 
was  wont  to  amuse  the  prince.  She  one  day  began  to  sing  of  her 
own  accord  and,  when  she  had  finished,  she  felt  surprised  and 
almost  hurt,  because  her  song  had  elicited  no  remark  from  the 
queen.  Had  she  not  sung  well  ? 

The  queen  had  said  nothing,  because  she  feared  that  she  might 
embarrass  her. 

There  was  a  strange  contrast  between  these  two  women,  each 
of  whom  was  trying  to  place  herself  in  more  perfect  sympathy 
with  the  other,  while  both  were,  with  every  step,  adding  to  the 
distance  that  separated  them. 

It  was  a  great  day  when  the  queen,  accompanied  by  Walpurga 
and  the  crown  prince,  rode  out  for  the  first  time. 

"  You  're  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  when  you  're  out  of 
doors,  in  the  open  air.  In  the  darkened  rooms,  I  never  knew  how 
beautiful  you  were,"  said  Walpurga  to  the  queen,  who  immediately 


154  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

afterward  had  something  to  say  in  French  to  the  Countess  Brinken* 
stein,  \vho  sat  beside  her. 

"  May  I  ask  a  favor,  gracious  queen?"  said  Walpurga. 

"  Certainly.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  hurts  the  child  to  talk  gibberish  before  it.  A  young 
soul  like  his  understands,  even  if  it  can't  speak,  and  it  seems  to  me 
it  must  confuse  his  little  brain.  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you ; 
but  I  feel  it  in  mv  own  head,  and  whatever  affects  me,  affects  the 
child." 

"She  's  right,"  said  the  queen  to  Countess  Brinkenstein,  "until 
the  child  can  speak  perfectly,  it  should  hear  no  language  but  its 
mother  tongue." 

"  That 's  it — mother  tongue,"  exclaimed  Walpurga,  "you  Ve  hit 
it.  I  had  it  on  my  lips,  but  I  could  n't  think  of  it ;  that  's  the 
very  word.  I  'm,  so  to  say,  the  same  as  a  mother  to  the  child  and 
so— is  n't  it  so?" 

"  Yes,  certainly.  It  shall  be  as  you  say  in  all  things.  See  to  it, 
my  dear  Brinkenstein,  that  after  this,  nothing  but  German  be 
spoken  before  the  prince.  No  one  can  tell  what  sounds  may  sink 
into  the  soul  which,  as  yet,  is  but  half  awakened." 

Walpurga  was  delighted.  There  would  now  be  no  more  gibber- 
ish when  she  was  by ;  for  wherever  the  child  was,  there  was  she. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  added  to  her  happiness  by  informing  her 
that  they  would  start  for  the  country,  that  is,  the  summer  palace, 
within  a  few  days. 

CHAPTER     XIII. 

JN  the  meanwhile  there  was  a  special  reason  for  detaining  Wal- 
purga and  the  prince  in  the  city. 

Baron  Schoning  had  spoken  of  the  matter,  while  at  breakfast 
one  day,  and  the  suggestion  which  had  been  offered  as  a  bit  of 
pleasantry  was  well  received.  The  millions  who  were  anxious  to 
behold  their  future  ruler  were  to  be  gratified  by  the  work  of  an  in- 
stant. It  was  determined  that  there  should  be  a  photograph  of 
the  crown  prince  borne  aloft  on  the  hands  of  the  people,  Wal- 
purga representing  the  people.  She  urged  various  objections  to 
the  idea,  and  said  it  was  wrong  to  let  a  child  less  than  a  year  old 
look  into  a  mirror,  and  quite  wrong  to  have  its  likeness  taken. 
"As  long  as  you  haven't  let  a  child  look  in  the  glass,  it  can  see 
itself  in  the  hollow  of  its  left  hand."  Finding  that  her  opposition 
was  of  no  avail,  she  dressed  herself  in  her  best  gown.  The  crown 
prince  looked  very  pretty,  and  as  he  already  had  fair  curly  hair,  the 
artist  removed  his  cap. 

The  first  few  attempts  to  get  the  likeness  were  failures.  When- 
ever she  heard  the  voice  issuing  from  the  dark  room,  Walpurga 
was  frightened  and  imagined  that  witchery  was  going  on.  She 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  155 

became  more  and  more  agitated,  but  at  last,  at  Schoning's  clever 
suggestion,  a  pianist  in  the  adjoining  room  played  the  air  of  Wal- 
purga's  favorite  song.  As  soon  as  she  heard  it,  she  could  not  help 
joining  in  the  strain.  Her  expression — and  that  of  the  child,  too 
— became  cheerful  and  unconstrained.  Eureka !  the  picture  was 
a  success. 

The  drives  about  the  city  had  been  lovely,  but  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  was  now  to  come. 

It  was  a  bright,  balmy  afternoon  when  they  drove  off.  Although 
there  had  been  no  rain  for  some  time,  the  road  was  free  from  dust, 
sprinklers  having  preceded  the  court  carriage. 

Walpurga  was  in  an  open  carriage,  with  the  prince  and  the 
queen.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  rode  out  among  the  villages 
and  the  fields.  She  gazed  at  the  people  who  were  looking  out  of 
the  windows,  or  sitting  at  the  doorsteps  of  the  houses  by  the  road- 
side, at  the  children  who  would  stop  and  salute  them,  and  then, 
again,  at  the  laborers  in  the  fields.  She  kept  smiling,  nodding  and 
winking  in  all  directions.  The  queen  asked  : 

"  What  ails  you  ?     What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,  queen  ;  but  here  I  'm  riding  in  a  carriage  and 
four,  and  over  there  the  likes  of  me  are  working  and  toiling,  and  I 
know  how  the  women's  backs  ache  from  digging  up  potatoes,  and 
while  I  ride  by,  as  though  I  were  somebody  better  than  they,  it 
makes  me  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  ask  'em  all  to  forgive  me  for  riding 
by  in  this  way.  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  say :  '  Never  mind  ;  when 
the  year's  over,  I  '11  be  the  same  as  you  are ;  the  clothes  I  wear, 
the  carriage  and  the  horses,  none  of  'em  are  mine ;  they  're  all 
borrowed.'  Ah,  dear  queen,  forgive  me  for  saying  this  to  you, 
but  you  understand  everything  and  know  how  to  explain  it  for  the 
best.  I  empty  my  whole  heart  out  to  you,"  said  Walpurga, 
smiling. 

"Yes,  I  understand  what  you  mean,"  replied  the  queen;  "and 
it  is  wise  of  you  thus  to  look  forward  to  a  return  to  your  home. 
The  thought  that  you  might  be  unable  to  content  yourself  there, 
has  often  troubled  me.  Believe  me,  we  who  ride  in  carriages  are 
no  better  off  than  those  who  are  walking  barefoot  through  yonder 
stubble." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Walpurga.  "No  one  can  eat  more  than  his 
fill,  as  my  father  used  to  say,  and  queens  must  bear  their  children 
in  pain  and  sorrow,  just  like  the  rest  of  us ;  no  one  can  save  them 
from  that." 

The  queen  made  no  reply,  and  looked  out  of  the  other  side  of 
the  carriage." 

Countess  Brinkenstein  motioned  Walpurga  to  be  silent ;  for, 
A'hile  it  was  difficult  to  induce  her  to  talk,  when  she  had  once  be- 
gun, she  did  not  know  when  to  stop. 

The  queen  was  only  silent  because  she  wished  to  say  something 


156  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

in  French,  tc  Countess  Brinkenstein,  and  had  refrained  from  doing 
so  on  accour  t  of  Walpurga's  previous  admonition. 

•'My  dear  child,"  said  the  queen  at  last,  "I  would  gladly  give 
up  ewrythiig,  if  I  knew  that  I  could  thereby  render  mankind 
happy  and  contented.  But  what  good  would  it  do?  Money 
vouL!  n't  help  the  people,  and  it  is  not  we  who  have  brought 
about  this  inequality.  God  has  ordained  it  thus." 

Walpurga  could  easily  have  answered  her,  but  thought  it  best 
to  leave  something  for  the  morrow  ;  for  her  father  had  often  said  : 
"It  isn't  well  to  catch  all  the  fish  in  one  day."  She,  therefore, 
remained  silent. 

The  queen  felt  greatly  constrained  by  her  promise  not  to  speak 
French  in  Walpurga's  presence.  There  was  much  that  she  de- 
sired to  say  and  with  which  the  peasant  woman  had  no  concern. 

"How  beautiful!  how  lovely  is  the  world,"  she  murmured  to 
herself,  and  then  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  fatigued  with  the  splen- 
dor which  had  opened  before  them,  after  her  long  seclusion.  And 
while  she  lay  there,  her  head  thrown  back  on  the  cushion,  she 
looked  like  a  sleeping  angel,  so  peaceful,  so  tender,  as  if  mother 
and  child  in  one. 

"  The  soft  cushions  almost  made  me  think  I  was  sitting  on 
clouds,"  said  Walpurga,  when  they  reached  their  journey's  end. 

She  was  unspeakably  happy  in  the  country.  The  broad  pros- 
pect, the  clear  skies,  the  mountains,  the  large  and  beautiful  garden 
with  its  comfortable  seats,  the  fountains,  the  swans — all  delighted 
her.  There  was  also  a  fine  dairy-farm,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant,  where  the  cow-stable  was  much  finer  than  the  dancing 
floor  at  the  Chamois  inn. 

Walpurga  was  out  in  the  open  air  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  The  queen  lived  for  her  child  alone,  and  Walpurga  was 
again  talkative  and  natural.  All  the  affected  ways  that  she  had 
acquired  while  in  the  city,  had  left  her. 

In  her  first  letter  home — she  could  now  write  for  herself — she 
said :  „ 

"  If  I  only  had  you  here  for  one  day,  to  tell  you  about  every- 
thing;  for,  if  the  sky  were  nothing  but  paper  and  our  lake  nothing 
but  ink,  I  could  n't  write  it  all.  If  it  were  only  not  so  far  off,  Han- 
sei  ;  a  pound  of  fish  here  costs  twice  as  much  as  with  us.  We  're 
living  in  the  summer  palace  now,  and  just  think,  mother,  what 
such  a  king  has.  He  has  seven  palaces,  and  they  're  all  furnished, 
every  one  with  a  hundred  beds,  rooms,  kitchens  and  all  of  them 
rilled,  and  when  they  go  from  one  palace  to  another  they  need  n't 
take  a  fork  or  a  spoon  along.  Everything  here  is  silver,  and  the 
doctor  and  the  apothecary  and  the  preacher  and  the  court  people 
and  the  horses  and  the  carriages,  all  move  out  here  with  us.  There  's 
a  whole  town  here  in  the  palace,  and  I  Ve  the  best  beer  and  more 
than  I  care  for;  and  when  one  gets  up  in  the  morning  ever) thing 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  157 

is  as  neat  and  clean  as  a  new-laid  egg.  There  's  not  a  leaf  on  the 
paths,  and  then  there  's  a  house  all  made  with  glass.  The  flowers 
five  in  it ;  but  I  dare  n't  go  in,  because  it 's  too  hot  in  there.  They 
keep  it  heated  the  whole  year  round,  and  it 's  filled  with  great 
palms  and  other  trees  from  the  east  and,  in  the  pond,  there  's  a 
fountain,  and  the  water  rises  up  as  high  as  our  church  steeple. 
And  just  think  of  all  such  a  king  can  have.  All  day  long,  when 
the  sun  shines,  there  's  a  rainbow  there,  sometimes  above  and 
sometimes  below.  Of  course,  he  nor  no  one  else  can  make  the 
sun  ;  and  they  all  do  their  best  to  please  me.  I  hardly  can  say  I 
like  a  thing,  before  they  give  it  to  me  at  once. 

"The  queen  is  just  like  a  companion  with  me.  Just  like  you, 
Stasi.  I  wish  you  much  joy  at  your  wedding.  I  only  heard  of  it 
from  Zenza.  You  shall  have  a  wedding  present  from  me  ;  let  me 
know  what  you  'd  like  to  have.  But  now  I  beg  of  you,  just  tell  me 
how  it  goes  with  my  child.  It  did  n't  please  me  to  know  that  you 
had  weighed  it  on  the  butcher's  scales,  and  that  it 's  so  heavy.  I 
would  n't  have  thought,  mother,  that  you  would  have  allowed  it, 
or  that  you,  Hansei,  would  have  given  way  to  the  innkeeper.  Be- 
ware of  that  fellow.  It  was  only  last  night  that  I  dreamt  you  and 
he  were  rowing  across  the  lake,  and  that  he  clutched  you  and 
dragged  you  into  the  water.  Then  all  was  over.  And  then  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake  appeared,  and  she  looked  like  the  good  Countess 
who  is  now  away.  She  's  the  best  friend  I  have  here,  and  prom- 
ised to  visit  you  on  her  way  back.  You  can  tell  her  and  give  her 
everything  just  as  if  it  was  myself.  They  've  just  brought  me  my 
dinner.  Ah,  dear  mother,  if  I  could  only  give  you  some  of  it. 
There  are  so  many  good  things  here  and  there  's  always  so  much 
left.  Do  n't  let  yourself  want  for  anything,  or  Hansei  either,  and 
my  child  least  of  all,  for  we  can  now  afford  it,  thank  God  !  And 
I  want  to  be  with  you  for  a  long  while  yet,  dear  mother.  It  often 
makes  me  feel  bad  that  I  can't  be  a  mother — I  mean  a  true  moth- 
er; but  when  I  come  home  I  '11  make  it  all  up  to  my  child  ;  and 
Hansei,  put  all  the  money  out  at  interest  until  I  get  home ;  re- 
member, it  does  n't  belong  to  us,  but  to  our  child  whom  we  de- 
prive of  its  mother. 

"  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  who  is  with  me  all  day,  tvas  born  here. 
She  'd  rather  be  in  the  city,  and  she  says  it  used  to  be  much  pret- 
tier here  than  it  now  is  ;  that  everything  used  to  be  like  the  little 
garden  yonder,  where  there  are  walls  and  rooms  with  doors  and 
vinclows,  all  made  of  shrubbery.  It 's  ail  very  pretty  and  I  like  to 
go  there,  but  when  I  've  been  there  a  few  minutes  I  am  almost 
frightened  to  death  ;  for  I  feel  as  if  I  and  the  trees  were  bewitched, 
and  I  get  away  as  soon  as  I  can.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  is  a  very 
good  person,  but  nothing  is  quite  to  her  taste.  She  's  been  used 
all  her  life  to  riding  and  fine  eating  and  sitting  about ;  and  mother, 
just  think  of  what  I  have  eaten  here — live  ice  !  People  here  are  s« 


158  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

clever  they  can  preserve  ice  and  make  it  up  so  that  you  can  eat  it 
Yes,  if  that  could  satisfy  one's  appetite,  there  wouldn't  be  any 
hungry  people  with  us  in  the  winter,  or  even  in  the  summer,  further 
up  the  mountains.  And  mother,  you  once  told  me  a  fairy-tale 
about  \valls  that  have  ears  ;  but  this  is  no  fable,  it  's  true  and  quite 
natural.  They  have  speaking  trumpets  running  through  the  whole 
palace,  and  you  can  speak  through  them,  and  if  I  want  anything  in 
my  room,  all  I  've  got  to  do  is  to  go  up  to  the  wall  and  say  so  and 
in  a  minute  it  's  there. 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  day  and  that  makes  me  think  that  you  have 
it  as  well  as  we,  and  that  the  same  sun  that  shines  on  us  here 
shines  on  you,  too, 

"  The  main  business  here  is  taking  walks.  Every  one  must  take 
walks  here.  They  call  it  taking  exercise,  so  that  they  can  get  up 
their  appetite  and  keep  their  limbs  from  getting  stiff.  They  even 
take  the  horses  out  walking  when  there  's  nothing  for  them  to  do. 
Early  in  the  morning,  the  grooms  ride  out  a  long  way  with  them 
and  then  come  home.  I  often  wish  the  horses  could  only  take  me 
home  for  an  hour.  I  often  get  homesick,  but  I  am  well  and  hearty 
and  only  hope  it  is  the  same  with  you.  Your 

"WALPURGA. 

"Postscript. — Why  haven't  you  mentioned  a  word  about  the 
little  gold  heart  which  my  Countess  sent  to  my  Burgei  ?  And  no 
one  is  to  send  me  any  more  petitions,  or  to  come  to  me.  I  won't 
receive  another  one.  As  long  as  I  live,  I  '11  be  sorry  for  having 
anything  to  do  with  Zenza  and  Thomas ;  but  perhaps  it 's  all  for 
the  best  and  may  be  he  's  turned  out  better.  Do  n't  think  hard  of 
it,  dear  Hansei,  but  I  beg  you,  once  more,  to  have  very  little  to  do 
with  the  host  of  the  Chamois.  He  's  a  rogue,  and  a  dangerous 
one  at  that,  but  you  need  n't  tell  him  that  I  say  so,  for  I  want  the 
ill-will  of  no  one.  I  send  my  love  to  all  good  friends.  I  must 
stop  now,  my  hand  is  quite  stiff  with  writing. 

"  Stop  !  I  must  begin  again.  I  send  you  a  picture  of  myself  and 
my  prince.  It  was  taken  in  a  sort  of  peep-show,  before  we  came 
out  here,  and  now,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts,  the  prince  and  I  will 
always  be  together,  and  I  '11  be  holding  him  in  my  arms.  But  I 
am  still  with  you,  dear  Hansei,  and  you,  dear  mother,  and,  most 
of  all,  with  my  dear  child  that  I  bear  in  my  heart  where  no  one  can 
look.  Don  't  show  the  picture  to  any  one. 

"  But,  dear  me  !  what  good  will  it  do  if  you  do  n't  show  it  ? 
Mademoiselle  Kramer  tells  me  that  they  've  made  a  hundred 
thousand  pictures  of  me  and  the  prince,  and  now  I  am  hanging  up 
in  all  the  shops,  and  wherever  I  go  they  know  me  as  well  as  the 
king  and  the  queen,  whose  pictures  hang  next  to  mine.  I  feel  as 
if  I  wanted  no  one  ever  to  see  me  again,  but  when  I  think  of  it, 
it 's  really  an  honor  after  all.  I  am  out  in  the  world  now,  and 
must  let  them  do  what  they  please  with  me. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  159 

"But  I  shall  ever  be  true  to  you,  and  I  am  at  home  nowhere 
Out  with  you,  and  am  always  there  in  thought." 

!  CHAPTER  XIV. 

*  *  T  T  OW  goes  it,  Walpurga  ?  "  asked  Baum,  one  morning,  when 
11  the  nurse  was  looking  out  of  the  window  of  the  ground 
floor. 

"Oh  dear,"  replied  she,  "this  is  a  real  paradise." 

" Indeed  ! " 

"  Could  it  be  any  finer  in  paradise  ?  The  people  live  without 
care  and  have  nothing  to  do  but  eat  and  drink  and  laugh  and  go 
out  walking." 

"  You  're  right  there  ;  but  still  it  was  finer  in  paradise,  for  there 
father  Adam  could  n't  covet  another  man's  wife,  as  his  was  the 
only  one  in  the  world." 

"What  queer  notions  you  have,"  said  Walpurga,  laughing  ;  and 
Baum,  feeling  flattered,  added : 

"  In  paradise  they  had  no  use  for  servants,  no  coachman,  no 
cook,  no  house,  no  clothes.  There  were  no  boots  to  be  cleaned, 
because  there  were  none,  and  there  were  no  coats  and  shirts  to  be 
woven,  and  sewed  and  mended." 

"  You  dreadful  creature,"  exclaimed  Walpurga.  She  felt  as  if 
Baum's  words  had  almost  torn  the  clothes  from  her;  her  face  was 
crimson.  Baum  quickly  answered  : 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  look  so  dreadful  in  your  eyes.  In  my  eyes  you  're 
so  beautiful  that  I — "  He  was  interrupted  by  a  servant  who 
called  him  away. 

Walpurga  quickly  drew  back  into  the  room.  She  was  angry 
at  Baum.  How  could  any  one  use  such  language  to  a  married 
woman?  "And  yet,"  thought  she,  with  a  self-complacent  smile, 
"Baum  's  a  well-mannered  person,  after  all;  and  why  shouldn't 
one  crack  a  joke,  now  and  then  ?  " 

She  looked  in  the  large  mirror  for  a  moment  and  smiled. 

"  Yes,  when  Hansei  sees  you  again,  he  '11  hardly  know  you  ;  it 's 
the  good  living  that  does  it.  But  I  '11  say  to  myself  every  day : 
'  It  won't  last  long ;  you  're  only  hired  here  for  awhile.  But  danc- 
ing 's  pleasant,  even  if  the  dance  does  n't  last  long,' "  said  Wal- 
purga, as  if  to  console  herself.  All  sorts  of  dance  tunes  occurred 
to  her  and  she  kept  humming  them  to  the  prince. 

Walpurga  roamed  about  through  the  beautiful  park  as  if  in  a 
dream.  She  imagined  that  the  trees,  the  sky  and  the  birds  were 
all  enchanted  and  in  a  strange  world ;  that  they  would  suddenly 
awaken  and  all  would  vanish.  But  everything  went  on  in  its  quiet 
course,  each  day  as  beautiful  as  the  one  that  preceded,  like  the  sun 
rising  anew  every  day,  the  flowers  that  are  constantly  giving  forth 
their  fragrance,  or  the  spring  that  never  ceases  to  flow. 


160  aY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Waipurga  had  a  special  liking  for  Mademoiselle  Kramer's  father, 
who  was  governor  of  the  castle.  He  was  a  venerable  man  who 
raised  lovely  flowers  in  his  little  lodge,  and  she  could  talk  to  him 
as  with  her  own  father. 

Walpurga  was  sitting  out  of  doors  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  was  always  with  her  and  two  servants 
within  ready  call.  The  queen  would  also  often  join  them. 

The  queen  had  a  beautiful  snow-white  setter  of  which  the  child 
was  especially  fond.  Walpurga  requested  her  to  let  the  prince 
often  have  the  dog,  because  it  is  well  for  a  child  to  have  a  living 
animal  about  it. 

"  She  is  right,"  said  the  queen,  addressing  the  court  lady  at  her 
side  ;  "  animal  life  awakens  human  consciousness." 

Walpurga  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  The  queen  had  said  she 
was  right,  but  added  words  that  she  did  not  understand. 

"Just  look,"  said  she  to  the  queen,  "how  fond  the  bees  are  of 
our  child.  They  won't  hurt  him — you  need  n't  fear.  The  bee  is 
the  only  creature  that  came  out  of  paradise  without  being  spoilt." 

The  queen  manifested  her  pleasure  at  the  manner  in  which  Wal- 
purga's  thoughts  were  interwoven  with  tradition. 

Walpurga  observed  that  the  queen  had  but  little  worldly  wisdom, 
and  gave  her  the  benefit  of  hers  whenever  opportunity  presented 
itself. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  "  she  once  asked,  while  they  sat 
in  the  shrubbery. 

"  A  tree." 

"Yes,  but  do  you  know  it's  a  sacred  tree  and  that  lightning 
does  n't  strike  where  it  grows  ?  " 

••  No,  I  never  knew  that." 

"  And  then  of  course,  you  do  n't  know  why.  Now  my  mother 
told  me  all  about  it.  The  Virgin  was  once  crossing  a  mountain 
and  was  caught  in  a  fearful  storm.  So  she  stood  under  a  great 
large  hazel  tree  and  remained  safe,  and,  because  it  had  protected 
her,  she  blessed  it  for  all  time.  You  can  make  magic  wands  from 
hazel  twigs.  The  serpent-king  dwells  under  the  hazel  tree  and, 
sometimes,  under  the  weeping  willow.  Do  you  know  why  the 
weeping  willow  drops  its  branches  so  sadly?" 

"  No,  I  do  n't  know  that  either.  You  're  full  of  wisdom,"  said 
the  queen,  smiling. 

"  I  'm  not,  but  my  mother  is.  I  do  n't  know  half  as  much  as 
she.  She  's  very  clever,  and  told  me  about  the  weeping  willow. 
The  rods  with  which  they  scourged  our  Savior  were  made  from 
the  weeping  willow,  and  ever  since  that  time  she  droops  her 
branches  with  shame." 

Walpurga  was  quite  happy  to  think  that  she  could  teach  the 
queen  something.  She  felt  that  she  was  quite  a  different  being 
from  all  in  the  palace  and  that  the  queen  was  the  only  one  who 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  161 

understood  her.  She  was  always  happy  and  cheerful  when  with 
her  and  opened  her  whole  heart  to  the  queen.  "  You  're  quite  a 
stranger  in  the  world  ;  you  've  never,  in  all  your  life,  seen  how  the 
burghers  and  farmers  sit  in  their  rooms  of  an  evening,  what  they 
eat.  what  they  talk  of,  what  they  wish  for,  and  what  makes  them 
happy  or  gives  them  pain.  I  once  heard  my  father  tell  a  story. 
It  was  about  a  prince  and  a  princess  who  grew  up  as  shepherds,  and 
did  n't  know  who  they  were  until  they  were  grown  up,  when  they 
said  to  him:  'you  're  a  prince/  and  to  her:  'you  're  a  princess,' 
and  they  became  right  good  and  honest  people.  Of  course  they  'd 
been  out  in  the  world,  and  had  learnt  how  people  live  and  what 
they  need.  I  only  wish  that  we  could  send  our  prince  out,  the 
same  way.  I  think  it  would  be  good  for  him  and  the  whole 
country,  too.  If  servants  are  running  after  you  all  day  long,  it 's 
just  as  if  you  were  in  a  prison,  the  people  form  a  living  wall 
around  you." 

"We  can  all  be  honest  and  good,"  replied  the  queen. 

"And  make  good  men  and  women  of  our  children,"  added 
Walpurga.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  'd  like  ?  I  'd  like,  as  long  as  I 
live,  to  take  all  trouble  from  you,  and  if  sickness  came  to  you,  to 
be  sick  in  your  place." 

"  Yes,  that 's  very  well ;  but  let  us  be  quiet  now." 

The  queen  was  all  happiness.  She  saw  to  the  bottom  of  a 
simple  peasant  woman's  heart,  and  into  a  new  world  that  revealed 
itself  to  her  in  her  child. 

CHAPTER     XV. 

BAUM  availed  himself  of  every  opportunity  to  speak  with  Wal- 
purga. He  was  in  deep  affliction  ;  his  wife  was  seriously  ill, 
and  Walpurga  endeavored  to  console  him.  In  return,  Baum  lent 
a  willing  ear  to  all  her  complaints,  for  she  had  just  heard  from 
home,  that  Zenza  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  little  golden  heart 
that  Countess  Irma  had  sent  to  the  child. 

"Ah,  and  so  your  Countess  has  a  golden  heart  left  to  give 
away,"  said  Baum  in  a  mocking  voice.  "You  ought  to  be  glad 
to  have  such  a  friend." 

"  And  so  I  am.  Oh,  if  she  were  only  here  again,  then  it  would 
be  a  real  paradise.  I  do  n't  worry  about  Zenza's  making  away  with 
the  golden  heart ;  there  must  be  some  bad  people,  or  else  the  world 
would  be  too  beautiful." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  it 's  only  half  a  life  when  the  king  's  away.  Just 
ivait  till  he  comes  back  and  see  how  it  will  be  then.  When  there  's 
no  man  about,  it  is  n't  a  complete  house." 

The  queen  approached  and  Baum  withdrew. 

"  What  was  that  man  saying  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 

"  We  were  telling  each  other  of  our  troubles  ;  he  has  great  long- 


162  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ing  for  the  king  and  I,  dear  queen,  have  great  longing  for  my 
Countess  Irma." 

"  I  long  for  her,  too ;  but  she  has  asked  to  have  her  leave  of 
absence  extended  for  another  fortnight." 

Peacefully  and  calmly,  the  days  passed  by.  Walpurga's  favorite 
resort  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  dairy-farm  ;  for  there  were 
cows  there,  and  cows  are  the  same  everywhere,  and  do  n't  know 
that  they  belong  to  the  king,  or  that  their  milk  is  served  at  his 
table. 

Walpurga  remarked  this  one  day  to  Baum,  who  had  discovered 
that  he  could  meet  her  there,  and  he  replied  : 

"  Oh,  how  clever  you  are  ;  if  I  only  had  got  a  wife  like  you." 

"  There  are  dozens  like  me." 

"  Oh,  not  so  clever  as  you  are.  You  could  get  far  in  the  world, 
if  you  only  wanted  to." 

"  How  far  should  I  go  ?  "  said  Walpurga.  "  I  want  to  go  home 
and  no  farther." 

"  No  one  will  think  the  wrorse  of  you  for  that,  but  one  can  make 
a  new  home." 

"  I  do  n't  understand  you." 

"  I  can't  explain  now,  Countess  Brinkenstein  is  coming.  Meet 
me  in  the  shrubbery  behind  the  chapel,  this  evening  when  they  're 
all  at  table,  I  've  something  good  to  tell  you." 

Walpurga  had  not  time  to  reply.  Baum  saw  Countess  Brinken- 
stein approaching  and,  in  a  loud  voice,  gave  the  dairy  inspector  an 
order  from  the  head  cook,  and  then  walked  away  quickly,  respect- 
fully saluting  the  Countess  as  he  passed. 

Countess  Brinkenstein  administered  a  severe  reproof  to  Made- 
moiselle Kramer  for  having  allowed  Walpurga  to  stand  there  with 
the  prince,  and  chatter  with  the  servants. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  made  no  reply,  and  only  motioned  Wal- 
purga to  go  into  the  vine-clad  arbor. 

Walpurga  was  busy  conjecturing  what  sort  of  advice  Baum 
might  have  to  give  her.  He  knew  lots  of  things  and  perhaps 
knew  of  some  clever  stroke,  by  which  Hansei,  her  mother  and  the 
child  might  be  brought  to  the  palace.  But  Hansei  would  n't  do 
for  a  lackey.  Perhaps,  though,  they  could  make  him  court  fisher- 
man or  chief  woodsman  of  the  royal  forest. 

When  evening  came,  she  was  quite  uneasy.  It  was  not  the 
right  thing  for  her  to  have  a  secret  meeting  with  any  man  but  her 
husband  ;  but,  perhaps  the  place  may  be  given  away  to-morrow, 
and  then  it  would  be  too  late.  She  sat  by  the  window  and  looked 
up  at  the  stars.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  she  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  inquired  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

"  I  feel  so  warm  and  oppressed." 

"  I  '11  send  for  the  doctor." 

"  I  do  n't  need  the  doctor.     Just  let  me  sit  here  quietly.     But 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  163 

no  ;  let  me  walk  up  and  down  in  the  garden  for  a  few  minutes  and 
I  '11  feel  better." 

"  The  maid  can  go  with  you." 

"  No,  I  do  n't  need  any  one  ;  I  '11  feel  better  if  I  go  alone." 

"  But,  I  beg  of  you,  do  n't  go  too  far,  and  come  back  soon 
You  Ve  seen,  to-day,  how  every  misstep  of  yours  draws  reproof 
on  me." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  come  back  soon." 

Walpurga  went  out  at  the  back  door.  The  gravel  grated  under 
her  footsteps  and  she  trod  more  lightly.  The  air  was  laden  with 
the  perfume  of  the  flowers  ;  the  swans  in  the  lake  uttered  a  strange 
sound,  like  a  deep,  muffled  trumpet  tone  ;  the  sky  sparkled  with 
countless  stars  and,  just  as  Walpurga  looked  up,  she  saw  a  brilliant 
meteor  and  exclaimed  :  "  Hansei !  " 

In  her  innermost  heart  she  wished  for  nothing  but  her  husband's 
happiness.  She  stopped  when  she  had  uttered  his  name.  She 
felt  as  if  she  had  better  return.  She  was  a  married  woman  and 
ought  n't  to  meet  a  strange  man  at  night,  even  though  it  was  by 
the  chapel. 

Something  ran  across  the  path.  Was  it  a  cat,  a  martin  or  a 
weasel  ? 

"  Return,"  said  an  inner  voice,  but  she  went  on,  nevertheless. 
She  reached  the  arbor.  Baum  stepped  forth  from  behind  a  vine- 
clad  column.  He  held  out  both  his  hands  to  her  and  she  offered 
him  her  own.  He  tried  to  draw  her  closer  to  him,  but  she  stood 
firm. 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

"  Nothing  but  what 's  good.  You  see,  we  lesser  folks  must 
help  each  other,  and  you  're  so  much  to  me  that  I  could  do  any- 
thing for  you." 

"If  you  can  do  me  a  good  service,  I  shall  be  grateful  as  long  as  I 
live — I  and  my  husband  and  my  child.  Tell  me  quick ;  I  'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"  Then  we  can  leave  it  for  some  other  time." 

"  No,  tell  me  now.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  really  meant  nothing  at  all,  but  you  see  we  must  always  wait 
on  others,  and  so  I  thought  that  we  might  have  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  ourselves.  I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you  are  the 
light  of  my  life,  my  happiness.  When  I  look  at  you,  and  listen  to 
you,  I  'd  like  to  do — I  do  n't  know  what,  and  I  can  't  tell." 

"It  isn't  necessary,  either;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  this  is  very 
wicked  of  you." 

"  Is  it  wicked  that  I  love  you  to  distraction  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  doubly  wicked  that  you  fooled  me  here  and  made  me 
believe  that  you  had  something  good  to  tell  me." 

"And  so  I  have,'  said  Baum,  quickly;  "forgive  me  for  whaj 
I  Ve  done  ;  if  you  do.  I  '11  tell  you  the  re.st." 


164  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Yes,  I  '11  forgive  you,  but  make  haste." 

"Well,"  said  Baum,  with  great  composure,  "it's  simply  this. 
He  who  stands  at  the  manger  and  does  n't  eat,  is  a  fool.  Do  you 
understand  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  it  does  n't  take  much  to  know  that." 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  take  my  meaning.  A  court  like  this  is  a 
full  manger,  and  you  '11  be  a  great  fool  if  you  go  away  without 
having  taken  enough  to  satisfy  yourself  and  your  child  for  life." 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  how  that  can  be  done.  You  've  got  to  eat 
even7  day,  and  can't  stuff  yourself  with  enough  to  last  for  a  life- 
time." 

"  You  're  clever,  but  you  might  be  more  so.  Just  listen  !  What 
I  mean  is  this.  A  good  position,  or  a  profitable  situation,  should 
give  one  a  chance  to  make  himself  comfortable  for  life.  The 
tenant  of  the  dairy-farm  will  have  to  leave  next  spring  or,  at  the 
latest,  in  the  fall,  and  I  think  you  ought  to  manage  it  with  the 
queen  and  the  rest  of  them,  so  that  your  husband  should  get  the 
position,  and  then  you  could  be  here  all  your  life  and  you  and  yours 
would  be  well  provided  for. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  I  know  what  the  quality  are.  If  you 
leave  here  without  having  secured  a  good  situation,  not  a  cat  will 
remember  you.  But  if  you  remain  here,  you  '11  be  well  taken  care 
of  to  the  end  of  your  days,  and  the  older  the  prince  gets,  the  more 
he  '11  think  of  you  ;  and  when  he  becomes  king,  he  '11  provide  for 
you,  your  family,  your  child  and  even  your  grandchildren.  Is  that 
wicked  advice?" 

"  No ;  on  the  contrary,  it 's  very  good  and  I  '11  remember  it. 
That,  indeed,  would  be  bread  and  lots  of  butter." 

"  Oh,  I  've  never  seen  or  heard  so  sensible  a  woman  as  you  are. 
You  deserve  a  better  lot ;  but  that  can't  be  helped,  and  if  you 
remain  here,  I  '11  often  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  and  speak- 
ing a  word  with  you,  for  I  hope  we  '11  be  good  friends ;  shall  we 
not?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  my  Hansei  will  also  be  a  good  friend  to  you. 
There  's  not  a  false  drop  of  blood  in  his  body,  and  he  's  clever,  too, 
only  he  's  not  much  of  a  talker ;  and  he  loves  me  just  as  much  as 
gold ;  he  's  true  and  kind-hearted,  and  I  won't  let  any  one  say  a 
word  against  him." 

"  I  have  n't  said  anything  against  him,"  replied  Baum,  and 
Walpurga  was  obliged  to  admit  that  this  was  the  case ;  neverthe- 
less, she  could  not  help  feeling  that  any  offer  of  love  to  another 
man's  wife  is  an  insult  to  her  husband,  for  it  implies  as  plainly  as 
words  can  express  it :  "  He  is  not  the  right  man,  for  he  has  such 
and  such  faults ;  I  alone  am  worthy  of  you." 

Sighing  deeply,  Baum  answered  : 

"Oh,  if  one  could  only  double  his  life." 

"  I  should  think  one  life  was  enough  for  any  man." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  165 

"  Certainly,  if  one  has  n't  wasted  it.  One  can  only  live  once, 
you  know." 

"Yes,  in  this  world  ;  but  in  the  next  it  begins  anew." 

"  I  mean  in  this  world,  too.  But  it 's  very  hard,  let  me  tell  you, 
ii  one's  whole  life  has  been  wasted  through  a  stupid  blunder. 
Must  one  bear  with  it  and  make  no  attempt  to  change  it  ?  We  've 
both  of  us  blundered." 

"Who?" 

"  While  I  was  a  soldier,  I  became  acquainted  with  the  valet  of 
the  late  king.  He  was  very  fond  of  me  and  took  great  pleasure  in 
helping  me  forward  ;  but  he  well  knew  what  he  was  about.  I 
thought  it  a  wonderful  piece  of  luck,  when  I  found  I  was  to 
marry  his  daughter.  It  was  only  too  late,  when  I  discovered  that 
she  was  sickly  and  irritable  and  without  a  healthy  drop  of  blood 
in  her  body.  And  is  my  whole  life  to  be  wasted,  because  of  this 
blunder  ?  And  is  no  love  left  for  me  in  the  world  ?  And  with 
you,  it 's  just  the  same  ;  with  both  of  us,  you  and  I — but  why  should 
it  be  too  late,  even  now?  " 

"  Pretty  jokes,  indeed  !  but  they  're  not  to  my  taste.  It 's  wrong 
to  talk  about  such  things." 

"  I  'm  not  joking.  Are  all  of  earth's  joys  to  be  lost  to  us,  just 
because  we  have  once  blundered  ?  In  that  case,  we  'd  be  doubly 
fools." 

"  I  see  you  're  in  earnest." 

"Certainly  I  am,"  said  Baum,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

"Very  well,  then.  Just  listen  to  what  I  've  got  to  say.  How 
can  you  dare  insult  my  Hansei,  that  way?  If  it  were  so — and  it 
is  n't — but  suppose  it  were  ;  do  you  think,  even  if  you  were  better 
looking  or  better  mannered  than  my  Hansei,  and  you  're  far  from 
being  that,  let  me  tell  you. — But  that  does  n't  matter  one  way  or 
the  other.  There  's  not  a  better  man  living  than  my  Hansei,  and 
even  if  there  be  one,  he  's  nothing  to  me  ;  we  're  husband  and 
wife  and  belong  to  each  other. — But  it  was  only  a  joke,  after  all, 
was  n't  it  ?  and  a  mighty  stupid  one  at  that.  Say  that  you  only 
meant  it  for  fun,  for  if  I  thought  you  were  in  earnest,  I  'd  never 
speak  another  word  to  you  ;  and  now — Good  night." 

"  No,  wait  a  moment.  Now  that  I  know  how  good  you  are, 
I  think  so  much  the  more  of  you.  If  I  only  had  a  wife  like  you  !  " 

Baum  was  greatly  agitated.  He  had  at  first  only  dallied  with 
kind  words,  but  his  voice  had  gradually  assumed  an  agitated  and 
touching  tone. 

"I  '11  give  you  something,"  said  Walpurga,  placing  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

';\y'iat  is  it;  a  kiss?  " 

"  Get  out !  Do  n't  talk  so.  You  've  just  been  behaving  so  well. 
Now  I  '11  tell  you  something  that  my  mother  taught  me.  She 
always  says,  that  he  who  is  not  contented  with  what  lie  has,  would 
De  dissatisfied  even  if  he  had  what  he  wished  for." 


166  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Did  your  mother  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  she  knows  many  other  good  sayings,  and  I  am  glad 
that  this  one  will  be  of  use  to  you ;  it  '11  do  you  good." 

"  Of  course — but  now  give  me  just  one  kiss,  because  I  Ve  been 
so  good." 

"What  a  foolish  fellow  you  are,"  said  Walpurga;  "you  say 
you  're  good,  and,  the  very  next  minute,  want  something  wicked  as 
a  reward.  I  'm  a  married  woman  and,  if  you  were  to  give  me  a 
whole  palace  with  all  that 's  in  it  and  seven  palaces  besides,  I  'd  not 
kiss  any  man  but  my  husband.  There,  I  '11  shake  hands  with  you 
— and  now — good  night." 

They  parted,  with  a  mutual,  promise  to  remain  good  friends. 

Walpurga  found  Mademoiselle  Kramer  in  great  trouble.  The 
child  was  crying,  and  would  not  be  pacified  until  Walpurga  sang 
to  it. 

Meanwhile,  Baum  returned  to  the  palace.  He  bit  his  lips  with 
vexation  and  thought  to  himself:  W7hat  a  simple,  stupid  creature 
such  a  peasant  woman  is.  And  she  is  beautiful ;  I  can  wait ;  I 
know  the  long  road  ;  she  shall  be  tamed  yet. 

For  many  days,  \Valpurga  would  pass  Baum  without  looking  up, 
and  he,  too,  seemed  shy ;  but  one  day,  when  she  was  sitting  on  the 
bench,  he  quickly  said  while  passing : 

"  You  need  n't  be  angry  at  me ;  I  did  n't  know  I  'd  offended 
you  and,  if  I  have,  I  ask  your  pardon." 

Walpurga  looked  up  as  if  relieved.  Baum  nodded  to  her  and 
hurried  away. 

CHAPTER     XVI. 

^PHE  king  had  returned  from  the  baths.  He  was  received  with 
1  great  ceremony,  but  he  and  the  queen  soon  withdrew  from  the 
company  and  repaired  to  the  crown  prince's  apartments.  The 
parents,  clasping  hands,  stood  by  the  cradle  of  the  sleeping  child. 
Their  glances  rested  upon  each  other  and  then  upon  the  prince. 

"  Can  there  be  a  higher  joy  than  thus  to  behold  the  babe  whose 
life  belongs  to  and  is  a  part  of  our  own?"  softly  whispered  the 
queen. 

The  king  embraced  her. 

The  child  awoke  ;  his  cheeks  were  glowing,  his  eyes  were  bright. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Walpurga  had  been  sitting  in  a  corner,  weep- 
ing silently ;  but  now  she  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  child.  The  king 
left ;  the  queen  remained  with  her. 

"  You  Ve  been  crying?  "  asked  the  queen. 

"  It  was  for  joy,  nothing  but  joy.  Could  anything  be  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  way  you  stood  together  there  ?  " 

"  I  '11  have  your  husband  come  to  you,"  replied  the  queen ; 
14  write  him  to  come,  and  say  that  your  mother  and  child  may  come 
Loo." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  167 

"  Yes.  dear  queen,  it  would  be  very  nice,  but  it  would  cost  a 
pretty  penny." 

Surprised  that  any  one  was  obliged  to  deny  himself  a  pleasure, 
because  of  the  expense,  the  queen  looked  up  and  said : 

"  Go  to  the  paymaster  and  get  the  money.  Would  a  hundred 
florins  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  More  than  enough  !  But  if  the  queen  would  give  me 
the  money,  we  could  make  better  use  of  it." 

The  queen  looked  at  Walpurga,  as  if  shocked  to  think  that,  even 
in  simple  hearts,  avarice  can  destroy  the  noblest  emotions. 

Walpurga  observed  the  change  in  the  queen's  expression  and 
said  : 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  honestly,  why  I  do  n't  want  it,  even  if  it  cost  noth- 
ing. My  husband  's  a  good  man,  but  he  's  just  a  little  bit  awkward, 
and  it  would  grieve  him  to  the  heart  if  any  one  were  to  laugh  at 
him.  And  it  would  be  too  much  to  expect  of  mother,  for  she  's 
over  sixty  years  old,  and  has  n't  been  out  of  the  village  since  hef 
wedding-day — that  is,  not  farther  than  Hohenheiligen,  three  miles 
from  our  place,  where  she  went  on  a  pilgrimage.  Though  it  would 
only  be  a  day's  journey,  she  has  n't  even  once  gone  home  in  all 
that  time ;  and  so  I  think  it  might  do  her  harm  if  she  were  taken 
anywhere  else,  even  if  it  were  only  for  a  few  days.  The  best  thing 
would  be  if  we  could  all  of  us  remain  near  the  king.  I  'm  sure 
we  'd  take  good  care  of  the  dairy-farm.  My  husband  knows  all 
about  cattle ;  he  was  cowboy  for  many  years,  and,  afterwards, 
herdsman  on  the  mountain  meadows." 

Walpurga  spoke  as  if  the  queen  knew  all  about  the  plan,  but  the 
queen  was  so  possessed  with  the  thought  of  her  domestic  happi- 
ness, that  she  did  not  hear  a  word  of  what  was  said. 

Days  passed  by,  and  Walpurga,  who  l\ad  received  none  of  the 
traveling  money  that  the  queen  had  promised  her,  did  not  venture 
to  ask  the  court  paymaster  for  it.  Desirous  of  showing  Baum  that 
she  was  still  on  friendly  terms  with  him,  she  told  him  what  had 
happened. 

"The  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  he,  with  a  shrewd  air,  "is 
not  to  take  so  small  a  gift.  If  you  do,  they  '11  think  they  've  done 
with  you ;  do  n't  lose  sight  of  the  main  chance,  and  that 's  the 
farm." 

Walpurga  was  sincerely  grateful  to  Baum.  It  was  very  fortu- 
nate, she  thought,  to  have  a  friend  at  the  palace,  who,  while  the 
king  was  yet  a  prince,  had  traveled  with  him  through  Italy  and 
France,  and  who  knew  how  one  ought  to  deal  with  such  high  folk. 

The  palace  seemed  to  have  thrown  off  its  tranquil  ways  of  the 
last  few  weeks.  All  was  life  and  bustle.  Sounds  of  laughter  and 
of  song  could  be  heard  from  early  morn  until  late  at  night.  Gay 
colored  lamps  hung  from  the  trees  and,  at  night,  the  sparkling 
lights  seemed,  in  the  distance,  as  if  part  of  a  fairy-scene. 


168  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Early  in  the  morning,  wagons  laden  with  provisions  could  be 
seen  going  hither  and  thither.  To-day,  the  court  would  dine  on 
some  wooded  height ;  to-morrow,  in  a  ravine,  or  near  a  waterfall. 

The  king  was  all  kindness  and  attention  to  his  wife,  and  the 
queen  had  never  seemed  more  lovely  in  his  eyes,  than  now,  ele- 
vated as  she  was  by  maternal  happiness  and  conjugal  affection. 

In  the  apartments  occupied  by  Walpurga  and  Mademoiselle 
Kramer,  none  of  this  bustle  of  preparation  or  departure  was  heard. 
They  simply  knew  that  "all  had  gone  off,  for  the  day." 

In  the  morning,  while  the  day  was  still  young,  and  in  the  even- 
ing, while  the  soft  dews  were  falling,  the 'king  and  queen,  arm  in 
arm,  might  often  have  been  seen  sauntering  in  the  park,  and  at 
such  times  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  would  remain  near  the 
palace. 

One  evening,  while  the  king  and  queen  were  thus  walking  to- 
gether, engaged  in  familiar  conversation,  the  queen  said : 

"  How  delightful  it  is  to  be  thus  leaning  on  your  arm  ;  to  close 
one's  eyes  and  be  led  by  you.  You  can't  imagine  what  good  it 
does  me." 

Although  the  king  expressed  himself  delighted  with  her  devo- 
tion, an  inner  voice  told  him  that  such  sensibility  was  unqueenly. 
How  differently — 

No,  he  would  not  permit  himself  to  think  of  it. 

The  queen  had  much  to  tell  him  of  the  gradual  dawning  of 
sense  in  the  prince.  He  listened  attentively,  but  rather  through 
politeness  than  sympathy.  After  the  first  week,  the  queen  excused 
herself  from  taking  part  in  the  frequent  excursions,  for  she  found 
no  pleasure  in  all  the  bustle. 

The  queen  had  Walpurga  and  the  child  with  her,  either  in  the 
park  or  on  the  rising  ground  behind  the  palace,  where  she  would 
sketch  groups  of  trees,  the  lake  and  the  swans,  the  castle,  the 
chapel,  and  various  distant  views. 

One  morning,  while  at  breakfast,  the  king  said  : 

"  What  charming  rivalry  it  was  when  you  and  Countess  Irma 
were  drawing  together.  Your  dispositions  were  both  illustrated 
by  the  way  in  which  you  treated  the  same  subjects." 

"Yes,  we  often  remarked  that.  Perhaps  I  worked  in  the  details 
more  correctly  and  sharply,  while  Countess  Irma  sketched  with 
far  greater  ease  and  freedom.  I  greatly  miss  the  dear  Countess." 

"  Then  let  us  write  to  her  and  tell  her  that  she  must  return,  and 
that  at  once.  Let  us  send  her  a  joint  letter.  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, we  shall  now,  all  of  us,  write  a  letter  to  Countess  Irma." 

"  Order  the  writing  materials  to  be  brought,"  said  he  to  one  of 
(he  gentlemen  in  waiting.  His  request  was  speedily  complied 
with  and  he  wrote  : 

"  Beautiful  Countess  !  Fugitive  bird  !  At  last  I  know  what  bird 
you  are  : — The  wild  dove.  Does  this  contradiction  describe  you  ? 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  169 

Wild,  and  yet  a  dove  ?  Come,  do  come  to  us  your  forest  com- 
panions hang  their  heads  because  of  your  absence.  Hasten  to 
us,  on  wings  of  song." 

The  king  offered  the  sheet  to  the  queen  and  said  :  "  What  will 
you  write  ?  " 

"  I  can't  write  when  any  one  is  present,"  replied  the  queen.  "I 
can't  write  a  word  now ;  I  shall  send  her  a  separate  letter." 

An  almost  imperceptible  expression  of  displeasure  passed  over 
the  king's  countenance,  but  he  subdued  it. 

"  As  you  please,"  said  he  courteously,  although,  at  heart,  angry 
at  this  everlasting  sentimentalism. 

The  courtiers  and  ladies  all  wrote,  each  adding  a  few  lines  of  a 
light,  jesting  character. 

Countess  Brinkenstein,  however,  had  slipped  away. 

Amid  jests  and  laughter,  the  whole  sheet  was  at  last  filled, 
and  then  the  king  said  : 

"  The  chief  one  is  still  missing.  Walpurga  must  also  write  to 
the  Countess,  for  the  voice  of  the  people  has  most  influence  with 
her.  Send  Walpurga  here." 

Baum  was  at  once  sent  to  bring  Walpurga.  On  the  way,  he  ex- 
plained to  her  what  was  going  on. 

Walpurga  was  not  shy,  in  the  midst  of  the  assembled  court. 

"  Would  you  rather  be  alone  in  your  room  while  you  write  ?  " 
asked  the  king,  betraying  his  vexation,  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  '11  write  wherever  you  want  me  to,  but  I  can't  do  it  well." 

Walpurga  seated  herself  and  wrote  : 

"  If  your  noble  father  will  allow  it,  I  shall  be  heartily  glad  when 
my  dear  Countess  Irma  is  here  again.  My  heart  longs  for  her. 

"WALPURGA  ANDERMATTEN." 

The  king,  having  read  it,  said  :  "  Write  also — '  it  will  do  me  and 
the  prince  much  good  to  have  you  here  again.  You  make  us  both 
happier '." 

"  Dear  king,"  said  Walpurga,  "how  clever  you  are.  What  you 
say  is  quite  true.  Now  be  so  kind  as  to  dictate  it  to  me.  I  can't 
put  it  into  such  good  words,  but  I  can  write  quite  well  from  dicta- 
tion. I  learned  it  from  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  I  used  to  know  how 
at  school,  but  forgot  it  afterwards." 

"No,"  replied  the  king,  "write  as  your  feelings  prompt  you. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  let  us  leave  Walpurga  alone,  and  go  to  the 
verandah." 

Walpurga  was  sitting  alone,  in  the  great  breakfast-room,  biting 
the  end  of  her  pen  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  remember  the. king's 
words.  Suddenly,  she  heard  a  slight  noise  near  her  and,  looking 
up,  saw  Baum  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"Come  here,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  can  help  me,  for  you  must 
have  heard  it  all." 

8 


i;o  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Baum,  and  dictated  the  king's  words  *o 
\Valpurga.  She  went  out  and  handed  the  letter  to  the  king. 

He  praised  her  for  having  put  the  words  so  nicely.  She  wras 
about  to  say  that  Baum  had  helped  her,  but  one  need  not  tell  every- 
thing, and  why  not  receive  praise  for  what  might  have  been  ? 

When  Walpurga  returned  to  her  room,  she  smiled  at  her  own 
shrewdness.  The  king  would  now  surely  give  her  the  farm,  for 
he  had  seen  that  she  could  write  down  everything  and  could  keep 
accounts. 

The  queen  came  into  the  garden  with  her  hastily  written  note. 

It  was  unsealed.     She  gave  it  to  the  king,  saying  : 

"Will  you  read  it?  " 

"  It  is  n't  necessary,"  said  the  king,  closing  the  letter. 

After  the  letter  was  written,  there  was  endless  tittering  among 
the  court  ladies.  They  chirruped  and  chattered  and  teased  each 
other,  and  hopped  about  like  a  flock  of  sparrows  that  have  just  dis- 
covered an  open  sack  of  corn.  They  soon  scattered,  and  ladies 
who,  at  other  times,  could  not  endure  each  other  were  now  good 
friends  and,  arm  in  arm,  would  walk  up  and  down  the  park,  while 
others  would  stand  gathered  in  little  groups.  All  seemed  loth  to 
separate.  They  had  so  much  to  tell  each  other  that  none  seemed 
willing  to  leave.  They  all  spoke  kindly  of  Irma.  Every  one  was 
still  her  best  friend,  but,  nevertheless,  careful  to  leave  a  loop-hole 
of  escape  open,  for  things  might  change. 

Within  a  few  days,  a  great  change  had  come  over  the  feelings  of 
all  at  the  summer  palace.  The  king  and  queen  had,  at  first, 
greeted  each  other  as  if  newly  married,  as  if  unspeakably  happy  ; 
but,  soon  afterward,  came  the  first  distinct  sense  of  uncongeniality 
which,  in  a  word,  betokened  that  the  king  wearied  of  the  queen. 
He  did  full  justice  to  her  noble  and  exalted  appearance.  Her  every 
word  and  thought  was  an  outgush  of  purest  emotion.  But  this 
exaltation  of  feeling,  which,  to  an  every-day  world,  appears  strange 
and  incomprehensible  and  yet  exacts  constant  consideration  for  its 
peculiarities  ;  this  endeavor  to  give  intense  and  exhaustive  thought 
to  every  casual  subject ;  this  utter  absence  of  all  cheerful  or  sport- 
ive traits  ;  this  cathedral-like  solemnity  of  character ;  this  constant 
dwelling  on  the  heights  :  though  beautiful  and  engaging  at  times, 
had  become  monotonous  and  distasteful  to  the  king.  The  queen's 
conversation  lacked  that  sparkling  effervescence  which,  though  it 
be  only  for  a  moment,  charms  and  animates  the  listener. 

The  king  who  was  fond  of  change,  delighted  in  what  was  sport- 
ive, capricious,  or  enigmatical  in  character,  and  in  the  conquering 
of  difficulties. 

The  remembrance  of  Irma  supplied  all  that  he  missed  in  the 
queen.  He  felt  sure  of  his  faith  ul  love  for  his  wife,  but  admired 
the  frank  and  lovely  disposition  of  Irma,  and  why  should  he  not, 
therefore,  enjoy  her  society  ? 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  171 

"  She  will  come  and  remain  with  us,  and  bring  new  and  fresh 
life  with  her,"  thought  he  to  himself  when  he  saw  the  courier  who 
bore  the  letter  to  Irma,  hurrying  along  the  road. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  king  and  queen  drove  out  together  ;  he' sat 
at  her  side  and  held  the  reins.  Their  only  attendants  were  the  two 
grooms  who  followed  on  horseback. 

The  king  was  quite  amiable  ;  the  queen  happy.  He  felt  inward- 
ly conscious  of  having,  in  ever  so  slight  a  degree,  swerved  from 
the  right  path,  and  this  made  him  doubly  affectionate.  With  a 
frank  gaze,  he  looked  into  the  brightly  beaming  eyes  of  his  beautiful 
wife. 

Thus  should  it  ever  be.  Thus,  purely  and  frankly,  shouldst  thou 
ever  be  able  to  look  into  those  eyes. 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

*  <  WOUR  MAJESTY,"  said  Countess  Brinkenstein,  on  the  fol- 
JL  lowing  morning  when  they  were  sauntering  in  the  park,  "  I 
owe  you  an  explanation  for  not  having  signed  the  letter  to  the 
queen's  maid  of  honor." 

"You  did  not?  "  replied  the  king. 

The  rigid  yet  refined  features  of  the  old  lady  showed  no  change 
at  these  words,  although  she  might  have  felt  wounded  at  the  inti- 
mation that  the  absence  of  her  signature  had  not  been  remarked. 
But,  in  all  things,  she  obeyed  the  highest  law  of  the  courtier ;  that 
is,  to  repress  all  personal  feeling  and  thus  avoid  all  sensitiveness. 
Couching  her  censure  in  terms  of  praise,  in  accordance  with  courtly 
fashion,  she  calmly  added  : 

"The  idea  of  the  invitation  was  quite  original,  but  genius 
must  ever  stand  alone.  Your  Majesty  has  often  honored  me  by 
addressing  me  as  your  motherly  friend  and,  as  such,  you  will,  I 
trust,  permit  me  to  remark  that  it  does  not  become  either  the  gen- 
tlemen or  the  ladies  to  put  their  names  to  an  extraordinary  jest  of 
Your  Majesty's.  There  should  not  be  the  slightest  cause  for  sus- 
picion that  this  invitation  was  designedly  open  and  informal,  be- 
cause secretly  intended  and  wished  for." 

The  king  looked  at  the  old  lady  in  surprise,  but  acted  as  if  un- 
conscious of  her  having  seen  through  his  disguise. 

"  I  must  again  tell  you,  my  lady,  that  you  ought  to  have  gone  to 
the  baths.  You  take  such  sombre  and  serious  views  of  everything ; 
but  when  one  has  been  at  the  baths,  as  I  have,  everything  looks 
gay  and  happy." 

"  Your  Majesty,  it  is  simply  my  duty  to  emphasize  the  rules  that 
govern  Your  Majesty's  high  position." 

"  Are  you  not  overdoing  it  ?  " 

"Your  Majesty,  etiquette,  although  invisible,  is  none  the  less  val- 
uable. Treasures  of  artistic  and  great  historical  value  are  not 


172  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

melted  over  to  make  new  coins,  but  are  carefully  handed  down  from 
century  to  century.  The  palace  is  the  highest  point  in  the  land, 
where  one  is  in  full  view  of  all,  and  where  we  should  so  live  that 
\ve  can  afford  to  have  all  our  actions  seen." 

The  king  was  listless,  for  his  mind  wandered  to  Irma,  who  must 
n.nv  be  receiving  the  letter.  "She  has  awakened,"  thought  he, 
"  and  is  standing  alone,  or  sitting  beside  her  misanthropic  father,  on 
the  balcony  of  the  mountain  castle.  The  letter  comes,  and  she 
feels  as  if  surounded  by  a  flock  of  chirruping,  singing  birds,  that 
alight  on  her  hands,  her  shoulders  and  her  head.  What  a  pity 
that  one  cannot  behold  her  charming  smile  ! " 

The  king's  vision  had  been  a  true  one.  Irma  was  sitting  beside 
her  father  and  dreamily  gazing  into  the  distance.  What  was  to 
become  of  her?  If  her  father  would  only  say:  "You  must  stay 
here."  But  this  being  obliged  to  decide  for  herself  was  the  trouble. 
If  she  had  a  husband  to  command  her — but  Baron  Schoning 
would  have  been  her  subject,  and  that  would  have  made  life's  load 
a  double  one.  At  that  moment,  the  housekeeper  announced  a 
messenger  who  had  just  arrived  on  horseback. 

The  courier  entered,  delivered  his  letter  and  said  that  he  would 
await  an  answer.  Irma  read  it  and  laughed  aloud.  She  laid  the 
letter  on  her  lap,  took  it  up  again,  and  read  and  laughed  again. 
Her  father  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"What  's  the  matter?" 

"  Read  this." 

The  father  read  it ;  his  expression  did  not  change  in  the  least. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think  I  must  obey  such  requests ;  but  can  I  return  without 
incurring  your  reproof?  " 

"  Always ;  if  there  be  nothing  in  your  own  heart  to  reprove 
you." 

Irma  rang  for  the  housekeeper  and  told  her  to  order  the  maid 
to  make  the  necessary  preparations  for  her  departure  ;  she  also 
ordered  them  to  treat  the  courier  with  hospitality,  and  to  inform 
him  that  a  part  of  the  journey  was  to  be  accomplished  the  same 
evening.  "  Are  you  angry  at  me,  father  ?  " 

"  I  am  never  angry.  I  am  only  sorry  that  so  few  persons  allow 
their  reason  to  guide  them.  But  be  calm,  my  child.  If  your 
•  resolve  is  dictated  by  reason  you  must  follow  it  and  bear  the  con- 
sequences calmly,  just  as  I  do.  But  let  us  spend  the  few  hours 
yet  left  us,  in  peace  and  quiet ;  life  lies  in  the  present." 

Irma  gave  many  instructions  to  her  maid  and  the  courier,  although 
it  always  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  forgetting  something  which 
would  not  occur  to  her  until  after  she  had  left. 

Father  and  daughter  were  still  at  dinner.  The  carriage,  laden 
with  the  luggage,  had  been  sent  forward  a  short  distance  to  await 
them  in  the  valley.  The  father  accompanied  Irma  down  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  173 

mountain.  He  spoke  with  her  in  a  cheerful  strain.  While  passing 
the  apple  tree,  on  the  way,  he  said  : 

"My  child,  let  us  take  leave  of  each  other  here.  This  is  the 
tree  that  I  planted  on  the  day  you  were  born.  It  often  marks  the 
limit  of  my  evening  walk." 

They  stood  there  in  silence.  An  apple  fell  from  the  tree  and 
struck  the  ground  at  their  feet.  The  father  picked  it  up  and  gave 
it  to  his  daughter. 

"  Take  this  fruit  of  your  native  soil  with  you.  The  apple  falls 
from  the  tree  because  it  is  ripe,  and  because  the  tree  has  nothing 
more  to  give  it.  In  the  same  way,  man  leaves  home  and  kindred  , 
but  a  human  being  is  more  than  the  fruit  of  the  tree.  And  now, 
my  child,  take  off  your  hat,  and  let  me  once  more  place  my  hands 
upon  your  head.  No  one  knows  when  his  hour  will  come.  Nay, 
my  child,  tlo  not  weep.  Nay,  weep ;  and  may  you,  through  life, 
only  have  to  weep  for  others,  but  never  for  yourself."  His  voice 
faltered,  but,  recovering  himself,  he  continued  : 

"  And  just  as  I  now  rest  my  hands  upon  your  head  and  wrould 
fain  place  them  on  all  your  thoughts,  do  you  ever  remain  true  unto 
yourself.  I  would  like  to  give  you  all  my  thoughts,  but,  for  the 
present,  keep  this  one  in  your  memory:  Indulge  in  no  pleasures 
but  those  which  you  can  remember  with  pleasure.  Take  this  kiss 
— you  kiss  passionately — may  you  never  give  a  kiss  in  which  youi 
soul  is  less  pure  than  at  this  moment.  Farewell !  " 

The  father  turned  away  and  walked  up  the  mountain  road. 
He  did  not  look  back  again. 

Irma  looked  after  him,  trembling  and  feeling  as  if  something 
drew  her  towards  home  and  bade  her  remain  there  forever.  But 
she  felt  ashamed  of  her  indecision ;  she  thought  of  the  next  hour 
and  of  how  strange  it  would  seem  to  the  servants  and  to  her  father, 
to  see  her  trunks  unpacked  and  all  the  preparation  for  the  journey 
undone.  No,  it  was  too  late,  and  she  went  on.  She  seated  her- 
self in  the  carriage  and  was  soon  on  her  journey.  She  was  nc 
longer  her  own  mistress  ;  a  strange  power  had  taken  possession  of 
her. 

It  was  on  the  following  day,  at  noon,  that  Irma  reached  the 
summer  palace.  All  was  quiet ;  no  one  came  to  meet  her  but  the 
old  steward,  who  hurriedly  laid  aside  his  long  pipe. 

"  Where  are  their  highnesses  ?  "  asked  the  courier. 

"They  dine  at  the  Devil's  Pulpit  to-day." 

From  the  garden,  there  resounded  a  cry. 

"O,  my  Countess!  My  Countess  is  here!"  exclaimed  Wal- 
purga,  kissing  Irma's  hands  and  weeping  for  joy.  "  Now  we  '11 
have  sunshine  !  Now  we  '11  have  day  !  " 

Irma  quieted  the  excited  woman,  who  said : 

"  I  '11  go  and  tell  the  queen  at  once.  She  's  the  only  one  al 
home,  and  is  up  on  yonder  hill,  painting ;  she  does  n't  care  to  go 
ou  thcoe  holiday  excursions,  and  here  every  day  seems  a  holiday." 


174  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Irma  instiicted  Walpurga  not  to  tell  the  queen,  and  said  that 
si  c  would  join  her.  She  went  to  her  room  and  sat  there  for  a 
lo.ig  vvhil",  buried  in  thought.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  extended  a 
Incndly  hand  and  that  no  one  had  clasped  it  in  return. 

In  the  hallway,  they  were  moving  trunks  about.  Suddenly, 
si  e  thought  of  the  time  when  she  sat  in  her  room,  an  orphan  child, 
clad  in  black,  and  heard  them  moving  her  mother's  coffin  about  in 
the  adjoining  apartment. 

Why  had  it  occurred  to  her  at  that  moment  ?  She  arose — she 
could  no  longer  endure  being  alone.  She  hastily  changed  her 
dress  and  went  to  the  queen. 

The  queen  saw  her  coming  and  advanced  to  meet  her.  Irma 
bent  low  and  made  an  effort  to  kiss  her  hand. 

The  queen  held  her  up  and,  embracing  her,  imprinted  a  tender 
.kiss  upon  her  lips. 

"You  're  the  only  one  who  dare  touch  the  lips  that  my  father 
has  kissed,"  said  Irma — that  is,  she  did  not  say  it  aloud,  but 
simply  moved  her  lips  as  if  forming  the  words.  Deep  within  her 
soul,  arose  a  thought :  I  'd  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths,  than 
sadden  that  guileless  heart. 

The  thought  illumined  her  countenance  with  a  noble  expression, 
and  the  queen,  all  delight,  exclaimed : 

"  Oh  how  beautiful,  how  radiant  you  are,  Countess  Irma  !  " 

Irma  dropped  her  eyes  and  knelt  down  beside  the  child's  cradle. 
Her  eyes  were  so  lustrous  that  the  child  put  out  its  hand  as  if  to 
seize  them. 

" He  's  right,"  said  W7alpurga,  "he  tries  to  catch  the  light  al- 
ready, but  I  think  your  eyes  have  grown  larger  than  they  used  to 
be." 

Irma  went  with  Walpurga  and  excused  herself  for  not  having 
visited  the  cottage  by  the  lake.  She  then  told  her  of  her  friend  in 
the.  convent. 

"  And  how  's  your  father  ?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

Irma  w^as  startled.  The  queen  had  not  even  enquired  about  her 
father.  Walpurga  was  the  only  one  who  had  asked  about  him. 

She  told  her  that  he  knew  her  mother,  and  also  her  uncle,  who 
Dften  burnt  pitch  in  the  forest. 

"  Yes,  he  's  my  mother's  brother ;  so  you  know  him,  too  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't,  but  my  father  does." 

Walpurga  told  her  about  her  uncle  Peter,  who  was  known  as 
die  "little  pitchman,"  and  vowed  that  she  would  send  him  some- 
thing, one  of  these  days,  for  the  poor  old  fellow  had  a  hard  time 
of  it  :n  this  world.  Old  Zenza  had  had  the  courage  to  come  to 
the  palace,  but  the  little  pitchman  would  starve  to  death  before  he 
would  do  such  a  thing. 

While  Walpurga  was  speaking,  the  queen  went  to  the  cradle, 
and  when  the  prince  saw  her,  he  struggled,  with  hands  and  feet,  as 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  175 

if  trying  to  get  to  her.  She  bent  down  and  raised  him  up,  and 
Walpurga  exclaimed : 

"  Dear  me  !  on  the  very  day  our  Countess  returns,  our  prince 
sits  up  for  the  first  time.  Yes,  she  can  make  everything  go  right." 

The  queen  and  Irma  remained  together  in  cheerful  and  uncon- 
strained conversation.  In  the  evening,  there  were  joyful  greet- 
ings on  the  part  of  those  who  had  returned  from  the  excursion  to 
the  Devil's  Pulpit.  Irma  now,  for  the  first  time,  learned  that  her 
brother  was  not  at  court.  While  at  the  baths,  he  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Baroness  Steigeneck  and  her  daughter  and  was 
now  visiting  them. 

The  king's  greeting  of  Irma  was  quite  formal.  Even  Countess 
Brinkenstein  could  have  found  nothing  to  object  to  in  it ;  but  how 
could  he  well  have  done  otherwise,  when  the  queen  said : 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  happy  our  dear  Countess's  return  has  made 
me ;  we  've  already  spent  several  delightful  hours  together." 

In  the  evening,  there  were  fireworks  which  the  king  had  ordered 
to  be  prepared  in  honor  of  Irma's  arrival.  Far  and  near,  the  peo- 
ple were  looking  at  the  lights  and  the  gay-colored  sheets  of  fire 
ascending  heavenward.  At  last,  Countess  Irma's  name  stood 
forth  in  letters  of  fire,  held  aloft  by  mountaineers.  The  flame 
crackled,  and,  from  behind  the  shrubbery,  there  issued  strains  of 
music  which  were  echoed  back  from  the  distance.  In  the  midst 
of  all  this  noise  and  splendor,  Irma  was  ever  asking  herself: 
"  How  fares  it  now  with  your  father  ?  " 

Count  Eberhard,  in  his  mountain  castle,  was  sitting  by  the  win- 
dow and,  looking  out  into  the  starry  night,  said  to  himself:  "Just 
as  the  stars  above  are  separate  and  distinct  from  each  other,  so  is 
every  human  soul  solitary  and  alone.  Each  travels  in  its  own 
orbit,  its  course  determined  by  the  attraction  and  repulsion  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  that  environ  it." 

That  night,  Irma  dreamt  that  a  star  descended  from  heaven  and 
fell  upon  her  bosom.  She  tried  to  grasp  it,  but  it  eluded  her  and 
transformed  itself  into  a  human  figure  which,  with  averted  glance, 
exclaimed:  "Thou,  too,  art  solitary." 


BOOK    III. 


CHAPTER   I. 

HANSEI  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  holding  his  pipe  with 
both  hands  and  smoking  away,  while  the  morning  passed.  Near 
by,  a  day-laborer  was  cutting  a  load  of  wood.  Hansei  looked 
on,  calmly  nodding  approval  when  the  woodcutter  made  a  clever 
stroke  and,  like  a  true  judge,  smiling  at  the  awkward  fellow  when 
an  obstinate  branch  would  oblige  him  to  turn  it  again  and  again 
before  he  succeeded  in  chopping  it  up.  The  grandmother  was 
carrying  the  chopped  wood  into  the  shed  at  the  gable  end  of  the 
house  and  was  there  piling  it  up.  Every  time  she  passed,  she 
would  look  at  Hansei,  who  did  not  stir.  At  last,  with  an  armful 
of  wood,  she  stopped  before  him  and  said : 

"Well?" 

"Of  course,"  he  replied  and  puffed  on.  The  grandmother's 
exclamation  had  meant :  "  What 's  this  ?  Are  you  only  here  to 
look  on  ?  Can't  you,  at  least,  pile  up  the  cut  wood  ?  " 

Hansei  had  fully  understood  her  and  had  answered  as  if  to  say : 
"Of  course  I  shan't  help ;  I  don't  feel  a  mind  to." 

The  grandmother  was  about  to  throw  down  the  armful  of  wood 
before  his  very  face,  but  she  reflected  that  the  day-laborer  outside 
need  not  see  that.  She  carried  the  wood  into  the  shed  and  then 
went  into  the  room  and  said : 

"  Look  here,  Hansei !     I  've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

"  I  can  hear  you,"  he  replied,  still  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  to  make  of  you.     What 's  got  into  you  ?  ' 

Hansei  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  make  any  reply,  but  went 
on  smoking  while  the  grandmother  continued  : 

"  It 's  shame  enough  that  you  have  the  wood  brought  to  the 
house,  instead  of  going  and  getting  it  yourself.  You  're  a  wood- 
cutter, and  yet  you  must  have  another  come  and  cut  your  wood  for 
you.  Such  a  thing  never  happened  before.  As  long  as  this 
house  stands,  the  axe-handle  has  never  grown  warm  in  the  hands 
of  a  stranger.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?" 

"There  's  no  need  of  my  doing  it,"  replied  Hansei. 

11  Very  well,  I  suppose  you  know  your  needs,  better  than  I  do," 
cried  the  old  woman,  angrily ;  "but  I  '11  not  scold.  Do  just  as  you 
please  ;  let  yourself  and  everything  else  go  to  ruin.  As  you  make 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  177 

your  bed,  so  you  '11  have  to  lie  on  it.  O,  if  Walpurga  knew  of 
this !  She  's  gone  away  among  strangers,  for  our  sake,  while 
you — 

"  There  !  I  Ve  had  enough  of  it,"  said  Hansei,  closing  the  window 
and  turning  round.  "  Mother-in-law,  I  do  n't  interfere  in  anything ; 
I  let  you  manage  just  as  you  please,  and  so  I  do  n't  mean  to  let 
anybody  interfere  with  me." 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  interfere  with  you.  You  're  father  and  hus- 
band." 

"  A  fine  husband,  indeed,  whose  wife  leaves  him  for  a  year." 

"  Perhaps  she  's  having  a  harder  time  of  it  than  you." 

"  May  be  so ;  but  she  has  pleasure  and  enjoyment,  and  what 
have  I  ?  I  wander  about  as  if  lost,  and  that 's  why  I  'm  not 
ashamed.  The  best  thing  left  me  is  the  tavern.  One  can  feel 
at  home  there,  when  he  can't  in  his  own  house.  I  do  n't  need 
to  cut  or  haul  wood  any  longer,  and  I  want  to  have  some  good  of 
my  wife's  being — " 

.  Hansei  could  not  finish  what  he  was  about  to  say,  for,  at  that 
moment,  the  door  opened  and  Zenza  entered. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  Who  sent  for  you  ?  "  enquired  the 
grandmother  of  Zenza,  who  replied  : 

"  Good  morning  to  you — I  did  n't  come  to  see  you  ;  I  want  to 
see  this  man.  Who  's  master  here  ?  you  or  he  ?  " 

"  Speak  out ;  what 's  the  matter?  "  said  Hansei,  winking  at  his 
mother-in-lavv. 

"  I  was  to  bring  you  the  smith's  compliments  and  tell  you  that 
the  gun  's  ready  for  you,  at  his  workshop." 

"  And  so  you  're  going  to  be  a  sportsman  ?  "  enquired  the  grand- 
mother ;  "  are  you  going  a  hunting  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  if  you  don't  carry  me,"  replied 
Hansei,  laughing  loudly  at  his  joke. 

The  grandmother  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  after  her. 
As  nimbly  as  a  cat,  Zenza  sprang  towards  Hansei  and  said  : 

"  She  '11  wait  for  you  up  there,  at  dusk."  Then,  in  a  loud  voice, 
she  added  :  "God  keep  you,  Hansei,"  and  left  the  house. 

The  grandmother  went  out  to  the  woodcutter  and  told  him  that 
he  must  n't  think  they  were  used  to  having  such  wicked  people 
as  Zenza  come  to  the  house ;  but  that,  no  matter  how  often  they 
forbade  her  coming,  she  would  force  herself  upon  them,  in  order  to 
show  her  gratitude  for  Walpurga's  having  procured  the  pardon  of 
her  sou  Thomas.  It  had  been  a  foolish  action ;  for  Red  Thomas 
\\  ould  have  been  much  better  taken  care  of  under  lock  and  key. 
But  Walpurga  had  meant  it  for  the  best. 

The  woodcutter  was  satisfied  ;  he  well  knew  that  it  was  a 
lespectable  house,  and  it  was  quite  by  accident  that  he  remarked : 

"  I  wonder  why  Zenza  's  without  Black  Esther.     They  're  gener 
ally  together  in  the  daytime." 
8* 


178  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  grandmother's  eyes  flashed  when  she  heard  his  words. 
She  bent  cloxvn  hurriedly,  took  up  an  armful  of  wood  and  carried 
it  up  to  the  h-use.  When  she  reached  the  gable  side,  she  found 
Har.sei  there,  piling  up  the  wood  and  whistling  cheerfully.  The 
gr  nc'.ir.c  her  kept  on  earning  wood,  while  Hansei  piled  il  up, 
iv.iher  of  them  speaking  a  word.  At  noon,  Hansei  paid  the 
woodcutter  and  said : 

"I  'II  cut  the  rest  myself;  you  needn't  come  to-morrow." 

"He's  a  good  fellow,  after  all,"  thought  the  grandmother  to 
herself.  "He  don't  like  to  give  in,  in  so  many  words,  but  after- 
wards he  does  what  you  tell  him,  for  all.  He  soon  finds  out  what 's 
right." 

After  dinner  she  brought  the  child  to  him  and  said  : 

"  Just  look  here  !  Just  feel !  There  's  a  tooth  coming  already. 
It 's  very  soon,  but  it  was  just  the  same  way  with  your  wife.  Just 
see  how  it  puts  its  little  hands  in  its  mouth.  God  be  praised  that 
our  child  is  thriving  so  nicely !  Since  you  Ve  been  using  hay  for 
fodder,  and  since  it 's  been  getting  the  new  cow's  milk,  you  can  see 
the  child  growing  before  your  very  eyes.  If  Walpurga  could  only 
see  it,  just  for  an  hour.  Take  it ;  I  '11  give  it  to  you  carefully.  See, 
it 's  laughing  at  you.  It  knows  you.  Ah,  dear  me  !  but  it  does  n't 
know  its  mother  yet." 

"  I  can't  take  the  child  on  my  arms ;  I  'm  afraid  I  'd  hurt  it,"  re- 
plied Hansei. 

The  grandmother  felt  like  saying:  "If  you  let  yourself  go  to 
ruin,  you  '11  surely  harm  the  child — "  but  checked  herself.  When 
a  man  is  getting  back  into  the  right  road,  it  is  n't  well  to  keep 
preaching  at  him.  Let  him  go  on  quietly  in  his  own  way,  or  else 
he  will  lose  all  pleasure  in  it. — Thus  thought  the  grandmother  to 
herself,  and,  although  she  had  already  opened  her  lips  to  speak, 
she  swallowed  her  words. 

Hansei  looked  about  him,  with  an  unsteady  glance,  and  said  : 

"  Mother-in-law,  you  were  going  to  say  something  else." 

"  There  's  no  need  of  saying  everything.  But  yes  ! — you  lower 
yourself  when  you  let  Zenza  bring  messages  to  you.  I  noticed  the 
woodcutter  making  a  queer  face  when  he  saw  that  Zenza  was  al- 
lowed to  enter  our  house.  Do  n't  go  to  the  Windenreuthe ;  the 
place  has  a  bad  name  and  it  does  no  one  credit  to  go  there.  If 
you  do  want  to  go  hunting,  and  have  bought  yourself  a  gun,  you 
can  give  a  boy  a  penny  to  go  there  and  get  it  for  you." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  thought  Hansei,  smiling,  "grandmother  's  right ; 
but  one  need  n't  tell  all  one  's  thoughts." 

"  I  'm  going  into  the  forest  now.  I  want  to  be  about  when  they 
load  up  my  wood." 

He  took  his  hat  and  mountain-staff,  donned  his  hunter's  pouch 
and  provided  himself  with  a  piece  of  bread.  The  grandmother, 
carrying  the  child  on  her  arm,  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  179 

cherry  tree,  from  which  the  withered  leaves  were  already  begin- 
ning to  fall. 

Hansei  went  into  the  forest ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of 
sight,  he  turned  about  and  took  the  road  that  led  to  Windenreuthe. 

He  felt  quite  strangely  while  on  his  way.  He  had  never  before 
known  that  he  breathed  so  hard  and  was  so  easily  frightened.  He 
was  terrified  by  every  sound,  by  the  nutpecker  flying  from  the  tree, 
the  chattering  magpie,  the  hooting  hawk-owl  on  the  rocky  ridge, 
and  the  bellowing  cow  in  the  meadow. 

"I  oughtn't  to  go,  and  I  won't  go,"  he  exclaimed,  bringing 
his  staff  down  with  such  force  that  the  pointed  ferrule  struck  sparks 
from  the  stones  in  the  road,  and  yet  he  went  on.  Fortunately,  a 
mist  was  ascending  the  mountain,  but  he  walked  on,  farther  and 
farther,  through  the  clouds. 

Windenreuthe  consists  of  a  few  poor-looking,  scattered  houses. 
Hansei  stopped  in  front  of  the  first  house,  as  if  riveted  to  the  spot. 
He  was  seized  with  fright  as  sudden  as  if  a  bullet  had  struck 
him,  and  yet  what  had  alarmed  him  was  nothing,  after  all.  He  had 
merely  heard  a  child  crying  in  the  house  before  which  he  stood. 
''Your  child  cries  just  like  this  one,"  said  an  inner  voice.  "How 
will  you  be,  when  you  see  it  and  hear  it  and  kiss  it  again?  How 
will  you  be,  when  you  pass  this  house  on  your  way  back.  .  .  . 
How  will  you  be,  in  the  spring,  when  your  wife  returns  and  you 
walk  with  her  and  meet  Black  Esther  ?  And  at  every  merry-mak- 
ing, either  at  home  or  at  the  inn,  Black  Esther  will  come  and  say : 
'  Make  room  for  me  ;  I  belong  here  too  '." 

Hansei's  brain  reeled.  He  looked  into  the  future — days  and  years 
passed  before  him  in  an  instant.  And  yet  he  went  on.  Indeed, 
he  snapped  his  fingers  and  said  to  himself:  "You  're  a  foolish  fel- 
low ;  a  perfect  simpleton ;  you  have  n't  a  bit  of  courage.  Other 
people  are  merry  and  lead  a  happy  life,  and  do  n't  care  a  deuce 
about  it  and — what  jolly  stories  the  innkeeper  tells  of  such  and 
such  a  one,  and  what  pranks  the  hunters  tell  of.  ....  To 
enjoy  all  you  can  and  lead  a  loose  life  into  the  bargain,  does  one 
credit  with  those  wrho  're  not  obliged  to  earn  a  living." 

He  removed  his  hat ;  his  head  seemed  as  if  burning.  He  put  his 
hat  on  again,  pressing  it  down  over  his  eyes,  and  went  on  through 
the  dreary  village. 

Night  had  come  on.  Zenza  lived  in  a  so-called  herb-hut,  in  the 
woods  and  at  some  distance  from  the  village.  It  was  there  that 
her  deceased  husband  had  distilled  brandy  from  various  herbs,  but 
principally  of  gentian.  His  master-wort  was  still  noted. 

The  light  from  a  large  fire  shone  through  the  open  door  of  the 
hut.  At  that  moment,  some  one  came  to  the  threshold  and  leaned 
against  the  doorpost.  She  was  full  of  wild  beauty  and  power. 
Behind  her,  the  flames  were  brightly  burning.  Hansei  was  now 
,[uite  free  from  the  fear  he  had  experienced  on  the  night  when  he 


180  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

still  believed  in  the  fabled  forest-sprites.  The  figure  now  placed 
its  hands  to  its  cheek  and  uttered  a  shrill  shout,  which  might  be 
compared  to  a  tone-rocket  ascending  on  high  and  then  bursting 
into  all  sorts  of  carols.  Hansei  trembled,  and  then  he  heard  Zenza 
say : 

"  You  need  n't  shout  so.  Do  n't  scream  to  the  whole  world  that 
you  're  at  home.  Wait  till  the  horse  is  in  the  stable — " 

"  Hallo  !  "  thought  Hansei  to  himself,  while  he  stood  there, 
trembling,  "she  means  to  make  a  prisoner  of  you,  and  will  drag 
every  kreutzer  from  your  pocket,  if  you  act  meanly  or  badly  with 
her  .  .  .  She  '11  make  a  beggar  of  you,  and  disgrace  you  in 
the  bargain.  No,  you  shan't  rob  me  of  my  money.  I  won't  put 
myself  in  your  clutches.  I  '11  do  no  such  thing.  You  shan't  have  a 
right  to  stand  up  before  my  wife,  and  look  her  in  the  face  and  talk 
to  her,  while  I  11  have  to  thank  you,  in  the  bargain,  if  you  do  n't 
do  it.  No,  a  thousand  times  no.  I  won't  be  wicked.  I  'd 
rather — " 

As  if  pursued  by  an  enemy,  Hansei  hurried  back  with  mighty 
strides,  and  the  unbarked  oaken  staff  w-hich  he  held  with  both 
hands  served  to  support  him  in  his  flight.  It  was  long  since  he 
had  bounded  down  the  rocks  with  such  energy"  and  rapidity.  He 
again  passed  the  house  where  he  had  heard  the  child  crying.  It 
had  not  yet  been  hushed,  but  he  who  heard  it  was  a  different  man 
from  what  he  had  been  a  little  while  ago.  He  hurried  on  as  if 
pursued.  The  perspiration  trickled  down  his  cheeks  and  dropped 
on  his  hands,  but  he  did  not  once  stop.  He  felt  as  if  Zenza,  Black 
Esther  and  Red  Thomas  had  followed  and  overtaken  him,  and 
were  tearing  the  clothes  from  his  body.  It  was  not  until  he  had 
gone  far  into  the  forest,  that  he  ventured  to  sit  down  on  the  stump 
of  a  tree.  He  felt  as  tired  as  if  he  had  been  running  ten  miles. 
He  rested  his  hands  on  his  naked  knees,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  grasping-  a  strange  body.  He  touched  the  stockings  that 
Walpurga  had  knit  for  him,  and  the  first  word  that  left  his  lips 
was :  "  Walpurga,  I  've  only  once  trodden  such  a  path.  It  shall 
never  happen  again.  I  swear  it,  Walpurga,"  and,  taking  the  last 
letter  he  had  received  from  her  out  of  his  pocket,  he  said :  "  I  put 
your  letter  in  my  shoe,  and  these  feet  shall  never  tread  the  path  of 
evil  again.  Thank  God  !  I  've  only  been  wicked  in  thought." 
He  took  off  his  shoe,  placed  the  letter  in  it,  and  had  just  stood  up 
again,  when  he  once  more  heard  the  loud  shout  issuing  from 
Zenza's  house. 

"Scream  on,  as  long  as  you  've  a  mind  to,"  said  he  to  himself, 
while  he  went  farther  into  the  wood.  He  tried  to  light  his  pipe, 
but  always  struck  his  fingers  with  the  steel ;  and,  besides,  his 
tinder  was  damp.  "  You  do  n't  need  any  fire,  you  wicked  fellow," 
said  he  at  last,  while  he  put  the  pipe  into  his  pocket.  "  You  do  n't 
Heed  fire ;  there  's  one  burning  up  there,  that  would  have  been 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  181 

hellfire  for  you.     You  may  be  right  glad  that  you  're  out  of  it ;  it 's 
more  than  you  deserve." 

If  Hansei,  at  that  moment,  could  have  laid  hands  on  the  Hansei 
of  an  hour  ago  he  would  have  strangled  him. 

The  mist  had  become  so  thick  that  it  was  almost  like  a 
drizzling  rain.  The  forest  seemed  to  be  growing  vaster,  and  a 
path  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

"You  Ve  lost  your  way,  and  it  serves  you  right,"  said  Hansei, 
speaking  to  himself.  "  You  're  no  longer  fit  to  be  with  decent 
men,  you  good-for-nothing  wretch.  It 's  only  a  pity  that  youi 
wife  and  child  are  innocent  sufferers  by  it — " 

Two  men  in  one  were  lost  in  the  mist.  Hansei  cursed  and 
swore  at  himself,  but  soon  grew  frightened,  for  his  mind  became 
filled  with  stories  of  the  evil  spirits  that  lead  the  solitary  traveler 
up  and  down  hill,  and  round  and  about,  through  the  livelong 
night.  He  was  about  to  turn  back.  It  would  be  easier  to  find 
the  way  to  Windenreuthe. 

"Wait,  you  accursed  devil,"  said  he,  addressing  the  invisible 
companion  who  had  thus  advised  him  ;  "  all  you  want  is  to  get 
me  back  there  again.  No,  you  shan't  catch  me." 

He  again  tried  to  strike  a  light  and,  this  time,  with  success. 
Just  as  he  drew  the  first  puff,  he  heard  the  tones  of  the  bell,  and 
pressed  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  for  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
clapper  of  the  bell  were  striking  against  his  head. 

"  That 's  the  vesper  bell  of  the  chapel  by  the  lake.  The  sounds 
seem  so  near.  Can  I  be  on  this  side?  No,  it 's  the  mist  that 
makes  it  sound  so." 

Uncovering  his  head,  and  clinging  with  both  hands  .to  the 
staff  which  now  stood  firmly  planted  in  the  ground,  he  cast  aside 
all  other  thoughts  and  breathed  a  silent  prayer. 

While  praying,  he  could  not  help  thinking :  Oh  God  !  I  can  still 
pray,  although  I  could  so  far  forget  myself  and  go  astray. 

The  immortal  words  which  an  inspired  mind  drew  from  the 
depths  of  the  human  heart  and  its  never-ending  struggles,  thou- 
sands of  years  ago,  have  been,  and  still  are,  the  source  of  blessings 
innumerable.  They  are  a  guide  to  the  lonely  wanderer  who  has 
lost  his  way  in  the  mist  and  darkness  of  the  forest,  and  lead 
him  back  to  the  right  path.  The  bell  utters  its  sounds  and, 
though  it  does  not  speak  in  words,  it  yet  fills  the  soul  with  those 
immortal  words  which  serve  as  a  staff  to  the  weary  and  a  guide  to 
the  blind.  When  Hansei  finished  his  prayer,  the  bell  was  still 
tolling,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  whole  village,  every  soul  in 
•t, — and  above  all,  his  wife  and  child — were  calling  to  him.  And 
now  he  found  the  path.  He  descended  the  stony  bed  of  a  dried 
mountain  current  which  led  into  the  valley.  He  had  gone  far  out 
of  his  way,  fcr  when  he  descended  the  mountain,  he  found  himself 
back  of  the  (Ihamois  inn.  Evil  desires,  fright,  devotion,  and  losing 
his  way  had  made  him  both  hungry  and  thirsty. 


182  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Ah  !     God  greet  you,  Hansel,"  exclaimed  the  host. 

"  God  greet  you  !  God  be  with  you  !  "  stammered  out  Hansei, 
confusedly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  You're  as  pale  as  death. 
What  's  happened  to  you  ?  Where  do  you  come  from  ? "  en- 
quired the  host. 

"1  '11  tell  you  all  about  it,  after  a  while,"  answered  Hansei; 
"  but,  first  of  all,  give  me  a  schoppen  of  wine." 

The  wine  was  brought,  and  Hansei  looked  around,  as  if  wonder- 
ing where  he  was. 

He  felt  as  if  he  had  come  from  another  world,  and  it  was  not 
until  he  had  eaten  some  bread  and  salt,  that  he  told  them  of  the 
strange  adventures  he  had  had  that  day.  He  had  gone  out  into 
the  forest  to  load  up  the  wood,  and  had  lost  his  way,  and  wandered 
in  the  direction  of  Windenreuthe.  He  said  this  intentionally,  lest 
some  one  might  have  seen  him  in  that  neighborhood. 

They  spoke  of  the  belief  in  ghosts,  but  the  innkeeper  ridiculed 
such  nursery  tales.  Hansei  made  no  reply.  The  innkeeper 
remarked,  very  sensibly : 

"You're  often  bewildered,  nowadays,  just  because  your  Wal- 
purga  is  n't  with  you.  You  're  thinking  of  her  all  the  time,  and 
that 's  what  makes  you  lose  your  way." 

"Yes — quite  likely." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  call  you  in  the  village,  now  ?  " 

"Well,  what?" 

"  The  he-nurse.  Your  wife,  who  's  with  the  crown  prince,  is  the 
she-nurse,  and  so  they  call  you  the  he-nurse." 

Hansei  laughed  with  all  his  might. 

"Say,  Hansei,  what  pay  does  your  wife  get?"  enquired  Wastl 
the  weaver. 

"  I  won't  tell,"  replied  Hansei,  with  an  air  of  mystery. 

"  It 's  a  long  while  since  you  had  a  letter  from  your  wife,  is  n't 
it?"  enquired  the  innkeeper. 

"  Xo  ;  I  'm  expecting  one  any  hour."  He  had  scarcely  uttered 
the  words,  when  the  letter  carrier  entered  and  said,  "  So  here  you 
are,  Hansei ;  I  've  been  at  your  house  twice  to-day.  I  've  got  a 
letter  with  money  in  it,  for  you." 

"Let's  have  it,"  said  Hansei,  breaking  the  five  seals  with  a 
trembling  hand. 

"  A  nice  way  of  treating  money,"  said  the  innkeeper,  picking  up 
a  hundred  florin  note  from  the  floor.  "  That  '11  suit  me  very  well. 
1  've  use  for  one,  and  will  give  you  the  change  for  it." 

"All  right,"  said  Hansei,  leaving  the  money  in  the  innkeeper's 
hands.  He  then  read  his  letter : 

"Dear  Hansei :  This  time,  I  write  to  you  all  alone.  Here  are 
i  hundred  florins  that  the  queen  has  given  me  for  a  special  present, 
because  you  have  n't  come  to  see  me ;  but  I  must  tell  you  all 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  183 

about  it  so  that  you  can  understand  it.  You  've  no  idea  what  a 
good  soul  the  queen  is;  whenever  you  pray,  pray  for  hei.  We 
often  sit  together  for  hours,  and  she  can  take  down  everything  on 
paper  beautifully — the  trees  and  all  sorts  of  things,  and  we  talk  to 
each  other  as  if  we  had  gone  to  school  together.  But  she  's 
Lutheran  and  is  very  good  and  pious,  and  has  such  kind  thoughts 
about  all  things  that  an  ugly  word  could  n't  pass  her  lips.  If  she 
were  n't  Lutheran,  she  might  become  a  saint,  but  she  '11  get  to 
heaven  anyhow.  That's  my  belief,  and  you  can  believe  it,  too; 
but  you  need  n't  tell  any  one. 

"  Well,  the  queen  wanted  to  give  me  a  treat.  She  would  like  to 
make  the  whole  world  happy ;  that 's  the  way  the  saints  must  have 
been  in  the  olden  times.  Well,  as  I  said  before,  the  queen  wanted 
to  give  me  a  treat,  because  her  husband  came  home  well  and 
hearty,  and  they  're  so  fond  of  each  other,  and  she  wanted  you 
and  the  child  and  mother  to  come  and  see  me  for  one  or  two 
days,  for  she  notices  everything ;  she  looks  right  into  your  heart, 
and  I  'm  often  homesick  for  you  all.  And  when  the  queen  talked 
about  having  you  come,  I  said  to  her :  '  That  would  be  very  nice, 
but  it  would  cost  a  pretty  penny,'  and  so  I  let  her  make  me  a 
present  of  the  money,  and  we  can  make  better  use  of  it.  You 
have  n't  the  right  sort  of  clothes,  you  know,  and  the  people  here 
might  make  fun  of  you.  But  with  all  that,  I  would  n't  have  got 
the  money,  for  that 's  nothing  to  her.  She  never  thinks  of  such 
things.  She  's  never  counted  money  in  all  her  life,  and  I  really  be- 
lieve that  she  do  n't  know  how  to  reckon.  The  court  paymaster 
attends  to  all  that.  Here  there  's  an  extra  servant  for  everything 
— butlers  and  silver  keepers  and  lots  of  others.  But  now  my  good 
Countess  is  back  again.  She  's  been  to  see  her  father.  They  say 
he  's  a  sort  of  a  hermit  who  do  n't  want  to  know  anything  of  the 
world,  and  I  must  thank  my  Countess  that  I  got  the  money,  for 
she  knows  how  to  manage  everything.  And  so  I  send  you  the 
money.  Put  it  out  safely,  and  don't  forget  to  take  some  of  it  to 
make  a  holiday  for  you  and  the  child  and  grandmother. 

"  Ah,  dear  Hansei,  the  palace  folk  are  not  all  saints  and  honest 
people,  as  I  once  used  to  think.  Lots  of  thieving  and  deceit  are 
carried  on  here.  The  father  of  my  Mademoiselle  Kramer  is  an 
honorable  old  man  ;  he  's  the  keeper  of  the  castle  here,  and  he  's 
told  me  many  things.  But  one  can  be  honest  everywhere,  in  the 
palace  or  in  the  cottage  by  the  lake.  And  now,  I  beg  of  you  dear 
Hansei — I  always  say  'dear  Hansei,'  whenever  I  think  of  you,  and 
that  's  very  often.  It  was  only  last  night  that  I  dreamt  of  you,  but 
I  won't  tell  you  about  that,  because  we  ought  n't  to  believe  in 
ilivams.  But  write  to  me  very  soon  and  tell  me  how  it  goes  with 
j'ou ;  send  me  a  good,  long  letter,  and  do  n't  let  the  time  seem 


1 84  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

long  till  \ve  meet  again  ;  and  always  think  as  kindly  of  me  as  I  do 
of  you. 

"  Till  death,  your  faithful  "  WALPURGA." 

In  spite  of  their  entreaties,  Hansei  would  not  tell  a  word  of  what 
was  in  the  letter ;  he  went  home  quietly,  and  kissed  his  sleeping 
child.  He  felt  happy  that  he  could  thus  be  at  home  again,  and 
that  his  home  did  not  reject  him.  A  cold  sweat  came  over  him 
when  he  thought  that  he  was  sleeping  in  this  bed,  and  of  what  a 
changed  man  he  might  have  become.  He  stretched  forth  his 
hand  towards  his  wife's  bed  and,  in  the  silent  night,  kissed 
her  pillow. 

"  Now  I  'm  all  right  again,"  said  he.  He  arose,  struck  a 
light,  and  removed  the  letter  which  he  had  put  into  his  shoe. 
Then,  cutting  the  passage,  "  until  death,  your  faithful  Walpurga," 
out  of  the  letter  last  received,  he  loosened  the  inner  sole,  placed  the 
little  paper  underneath  it,  and  fastened  the  sole  down  again. 
After  that,  he  soon  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 

CHAPTER    II. 

4  4  YTOUR  MAJESTY,"  said  Countess  Irma  to  the  King  one  day, 
1  while  walking  on  the  verandah  with  him — the  queen  was 
in  the  music-room,  practicing  a  classical  composition  with  one  of 
the  court  performers — "it  is  curious  that,  while  absence  lends  ad- 
ditional charms  and  greater  merit  to  some  persons,  there  are  others 
who  are  all  the  more  perfect  and  interesting  when  one  is  in  con- 
stant, daily  intercourse  with  them.  And  yet,  when  away  from  such, 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  remember  them  just  as  they  are  ;  and  as 
to  describing  their  character,  or  even  their  personal  appearance, 
to  one  who  is  not  acquainted  with  them — why,  that  is  entirely  out 
of  the  question.  How  do  you  account  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  have  never  reflected  on  the  subject," 
replied  the  king,  "  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  chief  characteristic  of 
the  one  class  is  an  infinitude  of  small  details ;  while  with  the  other, 
one  is  struck  by  the  general  effect  of  the  various  traits  that  go  to 
make  up  the  character.  Those  whose  character  still  presents  an 
unsolved  problem,  and  who  thus  give  us  more  to  think  of,  would 
seem  to  belong  to  the  class  to  whom  absence  lends  importance. 
Does  it  not  seem  so  to  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  but  I  might  also  say  that  the  one  class  are  more  im- 
pressive and  thus,  even  in  the  present,  seem  like  remote  historical 
personages.  Although  they  die,  they  yet  remain — indeed,  absence 
is  a  sort  of  death.  The  others,  however,  only  exist  as  long  as 
they  breathe,  and  only  live  for  us  as  long  as  we  breathe  the  same 
atmosphere  with  them." 

"  Can  you  name  examples  of  such  imposing  historical  person- 
ages, and  also  of  ephemeral  ones?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  185 

"At  present,  I  could  only  recall  the  historical." 

A  slight  blush  passed  over  the  king's  features.  "Well,"  said 
he,  when  he  found  that  Irma  hesitated,  "  I  beg  of  you — " 

"  In  that  class,  I  place  my  father  over  all  others.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe to  Your  Majesty  how  his  great  nature  seems  constantly 
before  me." 

4  Yes,  I  Ve  often  heard  him  spoken  of  as  a  man  of  high  char- 
acfer  and  eminent  ability.  It  is  a  pity,  for  his  sake — and,  still 
more,  for  our  own — that  he  is  opposed  to  the  government.  And 
in  which  class  would  you  count  me  ?  I  have  sufficient  confidence 
in  your  candor  to  believe  that  you  will  frankly  give  me  your  opin- 
ion, and  you  are  so  sure  of  my — my — respect,  that  you  can  speak 
without  reserve." 

"Your  Majesty  is  present  company,"  replied  Irma,  "and  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  absent ;  for  your  position  exalts  you  far  above  the 
rest  of  us." 

"  Friendship  does  not  dwell  on  the  throne,  but  here  where  we 
stand  on  equal  ground,  dear  Countess." 

"  Nor  does  friendship  pass  sentence,"  replied  the  Countess. 
"  Her  place  is  not  the  judgment  seat.  I  know  of  nothing  more  re- 
volting than  when  men  who  profess  to  be  friends,  constantly  cast 
up  their  accounts  with  each  other,  as  if  to  say :  '  You  are  worth 
so  much  and  I  am  worth  so  much  ;  this  is  yours  and  this  is  mine — 

"  Ah,  these  state  affairs,"  interposed  the  king,  as  a  lackey  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  the  minister.  "We  will  speak  of  this  sub- 
ject again,"  he  added,  taking  leave  of  Irma  and  politely  greeting 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  whom  he  passed  on  his  way.  He  offered 
his  hand  to  his  prime  minister  and,  accompanied  by  him,  went 
into  the  palace. 

Irma's  friendly  relations  with  the  king  seemed  to  have  acquired 
new  life  since  her  return.  Her  daily  greetings  seemed  filled  with 
the  joy  of  meeting  after  long  separation. 

When  the  king  would  say:  "Good  morning,  Countess,"  and 
Irma  would  answer:  "  Thanks,  Your  Majesty,"  there  lay  a  wealth 
of  unuttered  thought  in  those  simple  words.  The  king  had  never 
before  been  in  so  pleasing  and  witty  a  mood,  and  Irma,  it  was 
justly  said,  had  brought  'the  mountain  breezes  with  her.  The 
queen  would  never  tire  of  telling  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the 
court  how  pleased  she  was  with  Irma  who,  although  simple  and 
unaffected,  possessed  the  highest  intellectual- gifts. 

Like  melodies  that  have  sunk  deep  into  the  soul  and  which  grad- 
ally  return  and  harmoniously  blend,  so  did  her  father's  words  and 
dt-as  now  recur  to  Irma.  She  had  spent  weeks  in  a  strict  school, 
where  idle  talk  and  trifling  were  of  no  value  and  where  distinctness 
and  certainty  were  insisted  upon.  Formerly,  Irma  had  been  re- 
garded as  a  child  of  nature,  freely  pouring  forth  whatever  engaged 
Her  thoughts ;  but  now  they  recognized  in  her  a  mind  whose 


1 86  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

groundwork  was  solid  and  comprehensive,  and  which,  neverthe- 
less, was  full  of  the  simplicity  of  nature.  She  was  full  of  sympa- 
thy and  kindness,  but  did  not  concern  herself  about  prevailing 
modes  of  thought.  She  freely  expressed  her  likes  and  dislikes,  and 
one  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  was  something  more  than  a 
mere  original  or  artless  hoyden,  and  that  she  really  possessed 
intellectual  self-consciousness  to  a  great  degree. 

Irma  often  changed  her  style  of  dressing  her  hair.     This  was 
naturally  censured  as  coquetry,  and  as  an  attempt  to  draw  the 
glances  of  all  upon  her.     But  it  was  simply  a  desire  to  appear  dif-  f. 
ferent  even"  day,  even  though  it  were  in  unimportant  and  subordi-  // 
nate  matters. 

It  was  very  fortunate  for  Irma  that  she  had  become  so  attached 
to  Walpurga ;  for,  on  sunny  afternoons,  the  queen  would  scarcely 
ever  suffer  Walpurga  to  leave  her;  and  then  Irma  would  be  seated 
with  them  and  would  read  aloud  to  the  queen,  or  join  Walpurga 
in  some  of  the  lovely  mountain  songs. 

The  king's  eyes  would  sparkle  with  delight  when  he  happened 
"to  join  them  at  such  times,  and  find  Irma  with  his  wife. 

"You  look  troubled,"  said  the  queen,  when  the  king,  who  had 
just  left  the  ministerial  council,  joined  her  and  Irma  in  the  park. 

"  And  so  I  am." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

Irma  was  about  to  withdraw,  but  the  king  said : 

"  Stay,  Countess  ;  the  matter  is  one  which  has  been  brought  to 
an  issue  by  the  case  of  your  friend  Emma."  Turning  to  the  queen, 
he  added :  "  Has  our  Countess  told  you  of  the  terrible  fate  of  hei 
friend  ?  " 

"  She  has  ;  and  when  I  think  of  it,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  standing  on 
the  edge  of  a  precipice." 

Strangely  enough,  the  king  had,  thus  far,  neither  spoken  to  Irma 
about  the  matter,  nor  alluded  to  her  letter.  Irma  had  had  so  much 
to  engage  her  mind  since  her  return,  that  Emma's  troubles  had 
almost  escaped  her  memory. 

"Our  friend,"  began  the  king,  "has  informed  me  of  the  affair, 
and  I  appreciate  her  delicacy  in  refraining  from  pressing  the  sub- 
ject. In  matters  of  state,  we  have  no  right  to  allow  personal  feel- 
ings to  affect  us.  Nevertheless,  one  of  our  greatest  pleasures  is  to 
find  that  our  friends  cherish  our  honor  as  their  own." 

Irma  looked  down.     He  added  : 

"  Although  a  prince  owes  thanks  to  his  friends,  for  informing 
him  of  what  is  going  on,  no  influence,  not  even  the  best,  should 
affect  his  decision." 

Irma  did  not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes. 

"The  matter  stands  thus,"  continued  the  king.  "We  have 
provisionally  suspended  the  right  to  receive  new  nuns,  and  now 
the  ministers  desire  me,  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  estates,  to  con- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  187 

sent  to  the  introduction  of  a  law  by  which  the  convent  of  Frauen- 
worth  is  to  be  definitively  placed  upon  the  extinct  list.  They  hope 
by  this  and  additional  measures,  to  be  enabled  to  make  a^  stand 
against  the  constantly  increasing  strength  of  the  opposition." 

The  king  looked  at  Irma  while  he  said  this,  and  she  enquired  : 

"  And  has  Your  Majesty  approved  the  draft  of  the  law  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  I  have  no  special  feeling  in  favor  of  keeping  up 
the  convents,  but  I  do  n't  find  it  so  easy  a  matter  to  lay  the  axe 
to  a  tree  which  is  the  growth  of  centuries.  It  is  the  special  duty 
of  royalty  to  establish  and  foster  institutions  that  are  to  endure 
longer  than  a  generation  or  even  a  century,  and  a  convent — 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mathilde  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  a  woman  who  has  lost  all,  should  not  be  prevented 
from  devoting  herself  to  solitude  and  prayer.  But  perhaps  I 
ought  not  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject.  My  youthful  im- 
pressions, or  rather  instruction,  in  regard  to  convent  life,  may  not 
always  have  been  correct.  It  seems  to  me  that  woman  alone 
should  have  the  right  to  determine  as  to  the  continuance  of  a  con- 
vent. What  do  you  think  of  it,  Countess  Irma?  You  were  edu-' 
cated  at  a  convent,  and  Emma  is  your  friend." 

"  Yes,"  said  Irma,  "  I  was  with  my  friend  at  Frauenworth,  where 
she  desires  to  live,  or  rather  to  die  ;  for  life  there  is  a  daily  waiting 
for  death.  It  seems  terrible  to  me,  too,  to  think  of  making  what 
may  perhaps  be  only  a  passing  mood,  the  irrevocable  law  of  one's 
life,  or  a  fate  from  which  there  can  be  no  escape.  And  yet  many 
other  holy  institutions  are  just  the  same.  I  can  now  see  what  an 
exalted  and  difficult  vocation  it  is  to  be  a  king.  I  frankly  confess 
that  if  I  were  now  called  upon  to  decide  this  matter,  or  to  sui 
a  law  upon  the  subject,  I  could  not  arrive  at  a  decision.  Now, 
more  than  ever  before,  do  I  realize  that  we  women  were  not  born 
to  rule." 

Irma's  voice,  although  usually  so  clear  and  firm,  was  now  veiled 
and  trembling.  She  was  standing  on  a  pinnacle  where  she  could 
find  no  firm  footing ;  she  looked  up  to  the  king,  as  if  to  a  higher 
being  ;  his  bearing  was  so  firm,  his  eye  so  clear.  She  would  gladly 
have  fallen  on  her  knees  at  his  feet. 

"  Come  nearer,  Count  Wildenort,"  exclaimed  the  king. 

Irma  started.  Was  her  father  there  ?  She  was  so  excited  that 
everything  seemed  possible. 

She  had,  at  the  moment,  quite  forgotten  that  her  brother  Bruno 
was  the  king's  aid-de-camp.  He  had  been  standing  a  little  dis- 
tance off,  and  now  approached,  in  order  to  take  his  leave  of  the. 
queen,  as  he  was  about  to  go  away  for  some  time. 

The  king  and  queen  left ;  after  which,  Irma  and  her  brother 
walked  away. 

The  king's  benavior  seemed  a  riddle  ;  but  for  this  he  had  his  own 
reasons,  the  first  and  greatest  of  which  was  invincible  distrust  of 


1 88  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

others.  "Distrust  all,"  was  the  great  precept  which  had  been  in- 
stilled into  him  from*  earliest  youth.  "  One  can  never  know  what 
selfish  purposes  may  lurk  behind  the  noblest  exterior."  This 
maxim  was  in  accord  with  one  trait  of  the  king's  character.  He 
desired  to  be  strong  in  himself,  to  allow  no  one  to  guide  his  judg- 
ment ;  and  that  is  the  great  secret  of  the  heroic  nature.  It  was 
this  which,  with  all  his  love  of  freedom,  had  made  constitutionalism 
repugnant  to  him  ;  for  the  constitution  destroyed  great  and  power- 
ful personal  influence,  and  required  that  he  be  simply  the  vehicle 
of  the  spirit  of  the  age,  or  the  exponent  of  public  opinion.  This 
\vas  opposed  to  his  own  strong  self-consciousness.  He  distrusted 
even"  one  who  attempted  to  press  him  for  an  opinion  or  a  decision. 
He  even  distrusted  Irma.  Perhaps  she  did  not  know  that  she  was 
the  instrument  of  a  party  ;  but  she  was,  nevertheless.  They  had 
found  out  that  he  held  her  in  great  esteem,  and  were  now  availing 
themselves  of  Emma's  entering  the  convent,  to  force  him  to  a 
decision.  He  would  not  submit  to  this.  Irma  should  be  made  to 
know  that  he  would  not  allow  another,  even  though  it  were  his 
lovely  friend,  to  lead  him.  The  olden  time  could  never  again 
return.  They  would  find  him  a  new  being;  he  would  not  permit 
female  interference  in  state  affairs. 

It  was  these  conflicting  feelings  of  distrust  and  self-exaltation 
that  had  induced  the  king  to  refrain  from  mentioning  Irma's  letter, 
and  at  last  to  speak  of  it  in  the  way  he  had. 

While  walking  with  the  queen,  the  king  still  enjoyed  his  victory 
over  the  women  and,  above  all,  over  the  one  whom  he  had  believed 
possessed  of  so  powerful  a  mind.  He  repeatedly  spoke  of  Irma's 
petition  in  favor  of  her  friend,  and  of  his  determination  not  to  be 
swayed  by  it.  His  remarks  betrayed  a  trace  of  ill  humor  towards 
Irma.  The  queen  was  lavish  in  her  praise  of  the  Countess.  The 
king  smiled. 

CHAPTER     III. 

u  "PvO  N'T  let  me  wait  any  longer  for  your  answer,"  said  Bruno 
U  to  his  sister ;  "  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  What  was  it?  I  was  so  preoccupied  that 
I  did  n't  hear  you." 

Bruno  looked  at  his  sister  with  an  air  of  surprise.  Irma  had  in- 
deed not  heard  him.  She  had  been  puzzling  her  brain  in  regard 
to  the  king's  behavior.  He  had  plainly  intimated  that  he  would 
allow  no  one  to  influence  his  course  in  state  affairs.  It  now  oc- 
curred to  Irma  that  the  tone  of  the  letter  which  she  had  written  while 
at  the  convent,  had  been  q-.ite  improper,  and  her  heart  was  filled 
with  thanks  to  the  great  and  noble  man,  who,  having  it  in  his 
power  to  forgive  her,  had  forgiven  her  so  gracefully.  She  felt 
doubly  grateful  to  him  for  refusing  to  be  swayed  by  her  ardent 


ON  THE  HEIGH 

entreaties.     She  was,  herself,  in  doubt  as 
it  now  seemed  to  her,  as  at  first,  that  it  was 
to  prevent  the  consummation  of  an  irrevocable 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  again  said  to  her  brother.  "  L>o  you 
wish  anything  of  me?  " 

"  You  must  go  with  me  to-morrow,"  said  Bruno  ;  "we  're  going 
on  a  journey.  I  've  already  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  myself, 
and  the  queen  will  grant  you  leave." 

"  Go  on  a  journey  ?     Where  ?  " 

"To  witness  my  betrothal." 

"  Surely  not  with —  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  with  the  king's  sister ;  or,  if  you  'd  rather  have  it 
so,  his  half,  or  quarter  sister.  Baroness  Arabella  von  Steigeneck 
will  be  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

Irma  looked  down.  It  was  the  oldest  daughter  of  the  dancer 
who  had  been  ennobled  by  the  late  king.  Irma  spoke  of  the  im- 
pression that  this  marriage  would  make  upon  her  father;  but 
Bruno  jestingly  answered,  that  he  and  his  sister  had  been  separated 
from  their  father,  who  indulged  the  strange  whim  of  desiring  to  be 
a  common  citizen.  Perceiving  that  his  remarks  displeased  Irma, 
he  changed  his  manner  and  explained  to  her  how  cruel  and  narrow- 
minded  it  would  be  to  make  Baroness  Arabella,  who  had  royal 
blood  in  her  veins,  suffer  on  account  of  a  few  irregularities  for 
which  she  was  not  to  blame.  And  when  he  represented  to  Irma, 
that,  independent  of  his  wishes,  it  was  her  duty  to  meet  Arabella 
in  a  spirit  of  kindness  and  without  prejudice,  he  touched  the  right 
chord.  He  added : 

"  You  are  so  affectionate  to  the  simple-minded  peasant  woman, 
the  crown  prince's  nurse.  It  is  very  cheap  to  practice  humanity 
towards  one  of  the  lower  classes.  You  will  find  its  exercise 
pleasanter  and  more  effective  in  this  instance." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  think  so,"  replied  Irma,  regarding 
her  brother  with  a  more  cheerful  glance. 

Bruno  was  delighted.  He  had  used  the  right  bait  and,  for  a  few 
moments,  found  real  pleasure  in  conversing  on  such  subjects  as 
elevation  of  mind  and  nobility  of  soul.  Irma  consented  to  accom 
pany  him.  When  she  applied  to  the  queen  for  leave  of  absence, 
and  the  latter,  in  the  most  delicate  manner,  intimated  surprise  at 
Bruno's  choice,  Irma  proved  herself  so  zealous  an  advocate  of  hu- 
manity that  the  queen  could  not  avoid  saying  to  her : 

"You  are,  and  ever  will  be,  a  noble  heart." 

Inr  a  imprinted  a  fervent  kiss  on  the  queen's  hand. 

They  started  off  on  their  journey,  taking  with  them  Bruno's  two 
private  servants,  and  jockey  Fritz,  Baum's  son.  Father  Baum, 
who  was  both  indispensable  and  ubiquitous,  also  accompanied 
them. 

Bruno  was  in  high  spirits.     Like  all  other  epicures,  he  was  not 


190  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

averse  to  occasional  tender  scenes.  He  played  the  piano  excel- 
lently and,  at  times,  would  indulge  in  a  sentimental  adagio.  Irma 
no\v'  seemed  sentimental  in  his  eyes.  But  he  soon  tired  of  the 
melting  mood  and  in  his  flippant,  jesting  manner,  exclaimed  : 

"1  am  better  than  the  world  of  cavaliers  that  surround  us. 
You  smile — and  wonder  what  sort  of  cavaliers  they  must  be  among 
whom  I  am  the  best. — Yes,  dear  sister  Krimhilcle,  it  is  so,  never- 
theless. I  honestly  confess  that  I  only  marry  this  lady  in  order  to 
be  enabled  to  lead  as  jolly  a  life  as  possible,  and  am  I  not  bettet 
than  those  who  act  the  hypocrite  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  think  that  makes  you  better.  But  I  think  you  're 
simply  ashamed  of  being  in  love,  and  are  afraid  of  appearing  sen- 
timental." 

"  Thanks  !     You  're  a  profound  judge  of  human  nature." 

Bruno,  at  heart,  desired  his  sister  to  imagine  that  he  was  in 
love ;  for  that  would  render  the  demeanor  of  both  of  them  more 
natural  and  more  befitting  the  occasion.  He  blushed  and  smiled 
with  a  bashful  air. 

Baroness  Steigeneck  lived  in  a  little  town  and  occupied  a  castle 
which  had  once  been  a  retreat  of  a  sister  of  the  late  king. 

They  reached  the  castle.  A  bright  peacock  stood  on  the  high 
wall,  and  filled  the  air  with  its  shrill  cry. 

Rooms  had  been  prepared  for  Bruno  and  Irma,  who  retired  to 
change  their  dress.  Bruno  appeared  in  full  uniform,  and  with  all  his 
medals  and  orders.  They  were  conducted  to  Baroness  Steigeneck's 
salon  by  two  servants,  who  opened  the  folding  doors.  Baroness 
Steigeneck,  who  was  clad  in  studiously  simple  attire,  came  forward 
to  meet  Bruno  and  Irma,  and  received  them  with  a  graceful  bow. 
Bruno  kissed  her,  and  then  embraced  his  betrothed,  who,  in  form 
and  feature,  presented  a  pleasing  appearance.  He  introduced  her 
to  his  sister,  who  embraced  and  kissed  her. 

The  furniture  of  the  castle  was  splendid,  but  in  somewhat 
gaudy  taste,  with  more  regard  to  show  than  comfort,  A  life-size 
picture  of  the  late  king  was  displayed  in  the  great  salon. 

Irma  felt  alarmed  when  she  first  beheld  the  old  Baroness.  Her 
boudoir  was  hung  with  pictures  of  herself,  taken  while  she  was  yet 
a  young,  beautiful  and  voluptuous  creature,  and  representing  her 
in  various  bold  poses,  such  as  Psyche,  Eros,  and  the  Fairy  Queen. 
And  could  this  heavy  woman,  with  rigid  features,  be  the  same 
person  ?  Her  chief  employment  was  card  playing,  and  it  was 
here,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  that  Irma  saw  people  who  would 
sit  at  cards  by  the  hour,  out  in  the  open  air,  under  the  trees,  and 
amid  the  singing  of  birds.  \Yhat  would  become  of  some  people, 
how  empty  their  lives  would  be,  if  there  were  no  cards  ! 

The  time  was  pleasantly  spent  with  music — for  Baroness  Ara- 
bella sang  beautifully, — merry  dinners  and  excursions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Irma  could  not  help  watching  the  servants,  and  won- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  191 

dering  how  they  felt,  and  what  their  thoughts  must  be,  while 
serving  such  a  mistress.  But  she  saw  the  same  respect  shown  as 
at  court ;  and  when  they  drove  through  the  little  town,  the  people 
would  stop  and  lift  their  hats  in  token  of  respect,  for  the  Baroness 
had  brought  life  and  money  to  the  place.  Everything  in  this 
world,  even  respect,  can  be  purchased. 

Three  days  sped  by  quickly.  Baroness  Steigeneck  held  a  little 
court,  quite  modest  in  appearance.  An  old  and  exceedingly  ec- 
centric French  legitimist  was  the  special  attraction  of  this  court, 
and  French  was  the  only  language  spoken. 

The  formal  betrothal  was  speedily  settled  by  the  notary,  whom 
Bruno  had  brought  with  him  from  the  capital.  He  had  been 
carefully  instructed  and  it  fared  hard  with  the  old  Baroness. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  devilishly  close  clauses  in  reference  to 
death  or  separation.  Bruno  had  made  himself  secure.  The 
Baroness  jestingly  spoke  of  love,  and  said  that  she  had  not 
imagined  such  enthusiasm  possible  at  the  present  day.  Bruno 
agreed  with  her,  for  they  both  well  knew  that  it  was  simply  a 
question  of  money. 

Arabella  had  the  air  of  a  well-bred  lady  and  possessed  that  de- 
gree of  education  that  can  be  purchased  from  teachers.  She 
could  sing  and  sketch,  and  spoke  three  foreign  languages,  which, 
at  her  mother's  bidding,  she  was  obliged  to  make  a  parade  of. 
But  all  of  this  showed  application,  rather  than  native  talent.  She 
had  also  read  a  great  deal,  but  affected  ignorance  of  certain  works, 
passages  in  which  might  be  applied  to  herself  or  her  mother. 

Irma  was  exceedingly  kind  to  her  sister-in-law,  and  Bruno 
heartily  thanked  her.  And  yet  Irma's  mind  was  not  at  ease.  The 
house  seemed  under  the  influence  of  a  peculiar  spell — it  was  just 
as  if  in  fairy-land.  People  would  go  about,  and  laugh  and  joke 
and  sing  and  play,  but  there  was  one  word  they  dared  not  utter ; 
for,  at  the  very  mention  of  it,  the  castle,  with  all  its  pomp  and 
splendor,  would  disappear.  And  that  word  was:  "father."  But 
it  was  here  that  Irma  was  the  more  impelled  to  think  of  her 
father.  When  alone  in  her  room,  she  began  a  letter  to  him,  and 
when  she  wrote  the  words  :  "  Dear  Father,"  she  looked  about  her. 
She  regarded  it  as  her  duty,  and  thought  herself  better  able  than 
Bruno,  to  inform  her  father  of  the  betrothal,  and  to  invoke  his 
forbearance  for  this  unfortunate,  though  wealthy,  girl.  Never  be- 
fore had  she  made  so  many  unsuccessful  attempts  to  write  a  letter. 
She  had  begun  again  and  again,  and  had  always  ended  by  tearing 
up  the  sheet  and  throwing  it  into  the  fire.  She  found  it  impossible 
to  finish  her  letter,  and  at  last  concluded  to  wait  until  she  returned 
to  the  summer  palace.  But  she  could  not  get  rid  of  a  desire  to 
speak  cf  parents,  and  when  Baum  came  to  her  with  a  message, 
she  detained  him  with  the  question  : 

"Baum,  are  your  parents  still  living?" 


192  0Ar  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"No." 

"Did  you  know  them  long?  " 

Baum  coughed  behind  his  raised  hand  and  answered  :  "  I  never 
knew  my  father ;  and  my  mother — my  mother  was  taken  from  me 
long  ago." 

Baum,  who  still  held  his  hand  before  his  face,  bit  his  lips  and  at 
last  ventured  to  ask ;  "  May  I  enquire,  my  lady,  why  you  put  that 
question  to  me?" 

"  I  desire  to  acquaint  myself  with  the  life  and  history  of  those 
whom  I  know  personally." 

Baum  dropped  his  hand  and  his  face  was  as  smooth  and  void 
of  expression  as  before. 

The  strictest  decorum  was  observed  during  their  stay  at  the 
castle.  On  one  occasion,  however,  Irma  felt  offended,  and  that 
was  when  the  old  lady — they  called  her  "  Her  Grace  " — declared 
the  relation  of  an  affianced  couple  the  silliest  of  all  convention- 
alities— the  most  natural  and  proper  course  would  be  to  have  mar- 
riage follow  immediately  upon  the  betrothal — yes,  in  the  very  same 
hour. 

These  remarks  were  accompanied  by  a  peculiar  change  in  the 
expression  of  the  old  lady's  features.  Irma  was  startled  and  did 
not  get  over  her  fright,  for  when,  at  parting,  the  Baroness  im- 
pressed a  kiss  upon  her,  Irma  could  not  help  shuddering. 

Irma  had  been  sitting  in  the  carriage  for  some  time,  when  Bruno 
at  last  came,  and  again  stopped  to  throw  a  kiss  to  his  betrothed, 
who  was  standing  at  the  window. 

They  drove  off,  and  when  Irma  found  herself  alone  with  her 
brother  she  said,  in  a  loud  voice  and  with  a  strange  expression  : 

"O  father!  father!"  She  drew  a  long  and  deep  breath,  as  if 
relieved  from  some  dread  spell. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  said  Bruno. 

Irma  did  not  care  to  tell  him  what  she  felt,  and  merely  replied  : 

"As  soon  as  we  get  back  to  the  palace,  you  must  write  to 
father,  or,  what  would  be  better,  must  go  to  him.  Let  him  scold 
you,  if  it  must  be.  He  's  our  father,  after  all,  and  will  be  kind  to 
you  once  more  and  accept  what  is  past." 

"We  had  better  write,"  said  Bruno. 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Irma,  clasping  both  his  hands,  "you  must  do 
it,  for  Arabella's  sake." 

"  For  her  sake  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  wish  her  to  feel  that  there  is  some  one  whom  she  can 
address  as  '  father ' ;  that  would  be  the  happiest  moment  she  had 
ever  known." 

Bruno  drew  back.     After  a  little  while,  he  said  : 

"  Let  us  speak  softly.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  you  Ve 
touched  me  in  a  tender  spot.  Arabella  could  n't  call  any  one 
father,  and  can't  do  so  now.  Irma,  you  're  strong  enough  to  look 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  193 

the  truth  in  the  face.  What  is  it  that  forms  the  ir  dissoluble  bond 
between  father  and  child  ?  It  is  not  nature  alone,  but  history. 
By  rejecting  our  rank,  our  father  has  denied  father  and  mother  and 
our  long  line  of  ancestors.  It  was  he  who  broke  the  strong  and 
glittering  chain  that,  through  him,  linked  us  to  our  house.  We 
have  renewed  the  connection  which  was  thus  broken,  but,  in 
doing  so,  have  become  sundered  from  our  father.  He  separated 
himself  from  us ;  in  the  sense  in  which  you  mean,  we  can  neither 
of  us  say  'father'." 

Irma  turned  pale.  She  had  never  thought  of  the  matter  in  that 
light,  and  had  never  dreamt  that  Bruno  would  thus  defend  his 
course.  She  had 'thought  his  life  naught  but  frivolity,  and  now, 
for  the  first  time,  beheld  the  deep  chasm  that  separated  them. 
She  was  about  to  reply  that  her  father  had  remained  true  to  all 
that  was  noble,  to  all  that  the  best  of  their  ancestors  had  transmit- 
ted to  him,  and  that  he  had  simply  cast  aside  the  external  prerog- 
atives of  rank.  But,  for  the  first  time,  she  felt  that  she  could  not 
maintain  her  ground  against  her  brother.  She,  too,  had  separated 
herself  from  her  father.  She  was  silent.  They  drove  on  and,  for 
hours,  neither  spoke  a  word. 

They  reached  the  summer  palace.  To  all  who  congratulated 
her  on  her  brother's  betrothal,  Irma  offered  most  courteous  thanks. 
She  felt  strangely  embarrassed  in  the  presence  of  the  court  jeweler, 
who  had  been  requested  to  present  himself  at  the  palace  with  vari- 
ous caskets  of  gems.  She  was  to  join  Bruno  in  selecting  a  rich 
present  for  Arabella.  She  did"  so,  but  would  not  suffer  any  of  the 
jewels  to  be  tried  on  herself.  Her  maid  was  present  for  that  pur- 
pose and,  at  last,  they  decided  on  a  rich  set  of  diamonds,  which 
was  at  once  dispatched  to  Bruno's  betrothed. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

IRMA  recovered  her  wonted  cheerfulness  and  was  the  merriest 
sprite  of  the  whole  court,  teasing  and  bantering  every  one  ex- 
cept Colonel  Bronnen,  with  whom  alone  she  was  always  serious 
and  reserved.  She  rode  out  a  great  deal  and  often  accompanied 
the  king  in  the  chase,  in  which  the  other  court  ladies  were  also 
glad  to  join.  The  advance  of  autumn  rendered  the  air  fresh  and 
bracing,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  variety  in  their  amusements. 
The  queen  was  obliged  to  remain  at  home.  She  had  Walpurga 
and  the  prince  about  her  for  a  great  part  of  the  time,  and  was 
made  happy  by  every  new  proof  of  the  child's  dawning  intelligence. 
He  already  knew  his  mother  and  had  begun  to  notice  many  ob- 
iects.  She  deplored  her  husband's  restless  mind,  which  constantly 
craved  new  and  violent  excitement,  and  thus  deprived  him  of  many 
delightful  moments  with  his  child. 

They  would  often  take  their  meals  in  the  woods  or  on  the  mount- 
9 


194  0-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ains,  whither  their  viands  and  cooking  utensils  were  quickly  trans- 
ported on  the  backs  of  mules. 

The  idea  had  originated  with  Baron  Schoning,  and  he  was  not  a 
little  vain  of  it.  It  was,  indeed,  a  surprise  that  almost  savored  of 
magic,  to  find  a  banquet  spread  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  or  on 
some  height  that  commanded  a  lovely  view  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the 
feast  all  of  their  paraphernalia  would  as  quickly  disappear. 

Ever  since  his  return  from  the  lake,  Baron  Schoning  had  treated 
Irma  with  as  much  forbearance  and  consideration  as  if  he  had  re- 
fused her,  instead  of  having  been  refused  by  her,  and  he  really  felt 
as  if  he  were  the  one  who  had  said  "no."  The  idea  of  his  ever 
entertaining  thoughts  of  marriage  now  seemed  to  him  sheer  mad- 
ness. The  Baron  endeavored,  withal,  to  assume  an  air  of  dignity, 
but,  in  doing  so,  acted  very  cautiously,  lest  too  sudden  a  change  in 
his  deportment  might  awaken  unpleasant  comment.  He  had  told 
Irma  that  the  court  imagined  it  was  trifling  with  him,  while  he  in 
reality  was  playing  with  it.  The  bold  change  which  he  was  now 
attempting  to  consummate  had,  in  truth,  only  suggested  itself  to 
him  during  the  conversation  referred  to. 

Schoning  was  an  odd  character  at  court.  He  had,  at  the  start, 
entered  the  diplomatic  service,  but  soon  left  it,  in  order  to  become 
a  landscape  artist.  His  achievements  in  his  new  vocation  proving 
of  slight  merit,  he  sought,  and  found  it  an  easv  matter  to  obtain,  a 
position  at  court.  He  became  one  of  the  directors  of  the  royal 
gardens  and  chief  in  the  office  of  the  lord  steward  and,  by  virtue 
of  his  position,  chamberlain  also. 

In  familiar  moments,  he  was  fond  of  telling  his  intimate  friends 
— and  these,  of  course,  included  every  lady  and  gentleman  at  court 
— that  his  real  vocation  was  art  ;  that  he  had  only  sacrificed  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  king,  whom  he  loved  above  all  beings ;  and  main- 
tained that  this  was  a  duty  that  the  nobles  owed  their  sovereign. 
A  landscape  of  his,  showing  a  view  of  the  lake,  on  the  borders  of 
which  lay  Walpurga's  birthplace,  was  hanging  in  the  summer 
palace.  It  was  a  clever  picture,  but  malicious  tongues  asserted 
that  one  of  his  friends,  at  the  academy,  had  painted  the  landscape, 
and  that  another  had  done  the  figures. 

On  their  mountain  excursions,  Schoning  paid  marked  attention 
to  Irma,  who  could  freely  indulge  her  wanton  humor  with  him,  for 
it  was  well  understood,  at  court,  that  no  one  could  have  a  love  af- 
fair with  Schoning.  He  was  the  butt  of  ever}7  one,  and  Knew  how 
to  take,  as  well  as  give  a  joke. 

Schoning  would,  many  a  time,  have  liked  to  avoid  taking  part  in 
these  excursions,  for  he  well  knew  lhat  his  attempts  to  acquire 
dignity  were  far  from  being  successful.  But  even  pretended  ill- 
ness did  not  serve  as  an  excuse ;  for,  without  Schoning,  there  was 
no  target  for  their  jests.  What  was  he  to  do?  He  put  the  best 
face  possible  on  the  matter  and,  with  feigned  willingness,  accom- 
panied them. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  195 

Notwithstanding  the  wide  difference  in  their  stations,  Schoning 
and  Baum  were  both  indispensable. 

Baum  was  the  favorite  servant  at  court.  He  was  fortunate 
enough  to  be  useful  in  every  way  and  no  country  party,  no  dinner 
in  the  woods,  no  excursion  on  the  water,  was  considered  complete 
without  him.  Actors  are  often  vexed  when  they  are  not  suffi- 
ciently employed,  or  are  cast  for  unimportant  parts,  and  lackeys, 
in  the  same  way,  have  a  jealous  desire  to  be  kept  ever  busy.  It 
follows,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  Baum  had  his  favorites,  whom 
he  would,  when  occasion  offered,  mention  approvingly  to  the  lord 
steward,  and  they  obeyed  him  as  if  he  were  their  natural  superior. 
The  queen's  shawl,  or  the  king's  paletot,  were  never  so  well  carried 
as  by  Baum.  While  hanging  on  his  arm,  they  wrould  almost  seem 
to  say :  "  Oh,  how  warm  and  soft  we  are,  and  we  are  ready,  at  any 
time,  to  protect  and  warm  you.  Your  Majesties  have  only  to  com- 
mand us." 

The  evenings  were  pleasantly  spent.  After  tea,  they  would 
usually  repair  to  the  inner  palace  yard  and,  by  the  light  of  torches, 
look  at  the  wild  beasts  that  had  been  shot  during  the  day's  hunt. 
The  queen,  although  loth  to  behold  such  sights,  would  always  joir 
the  party,  lest  they  might  regard  her  as  being  sentimental.  Sue 
cess  in  the  chase  always  put  the  king  in  a  good  humor.  They 
would  then  return  to  the  open  saloons,  where  they  would  have  in- 
strumental and  vocal  music,  play  cards  or  have  some  one  read  to 
them.  Irma  was  an  excellent  billiard  player,  and  won  many  a 
game  from  the  king.  Her  every  movement  was  full  of  grace  and 
every  pose  that  she  assumed  while  playing  was  worthy  of  an  ar- 
tist's pencil. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is,"  the  queen  would  often  say  to  her  hus- 
band, who  would  nod  assent.  There  was  much  merriment  in  the 
great  billiard-room.  Before  parting  for  the  night,  the  inner  circle 
of  the  court  would  gather,  as  if  for  rest  and  retrospection  ;  for, 
every  evening,  the  chronicle  of  the  day  was  read  aloud.  Baron 
Schoning  had  conducted  this  daily  journal  for  many  years.  It  was 
written  in  verse  and,  what  was  still  better,  in  the  Highland  dialect. 
Countess  Irma  was  often  mentioned  in  it,  under  the  name  of  the 
"Rock-maiden."  All  the  little  events  of  the  day  were  presented 
in  a  comic  dress  and,  as  the  company  knew  all  the  personages  re- 
ferred to,  the  reading  of  the  journal  always  occasioned  great  mer- 
riment. The  king  was  usually  referred  to  as  Nimrod,  or  Artus. 
Nor  were  the  dogs  forgotten,  and  one  of  the  standing  jokes  was : 
"Foster-mother  Walpurga  ate  heartily,  and  Romulus  drank  copi- 
ously. Aunt  Lint  " — meaning  Mademoiselle  Kramer — "  began  to 
recount  her  family  history,  but  has  not  yet  reached  the  end." 

After  the  king  and  queen  had  retired,  the  court  would  break  up 
into  small  parties.  Accompanied  by  Doctor  Gunther,  Irma  would 
often  ascend  some  neighboring  height  or  descend  into  the  valley 


196  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Gunther  taught  her  the  constellations  ;  and  here,  in  the  stilly  night 
he  would  explain  to  her  the  great  laws  that  govern  the  universe ; 
how  the  planets  move  in  infinite  space,  attracted  and  repelled,  so 
that  none  describes  a  perfect  circle.  They  would  often  speak  of 
Irma's  father  who,  Gunther  maintained,  would  be  able  to  complete 
his  circle,  because  he  had  isolated  himself.  The  Doctor,  however, 
maintained  that  his  own  case  was  different ;  that  it  had  been  his 
lot  to  remain  in  the  world  ;  that  an  elliptical  course  was  the  only 
one  in  which  he  could  move ;  and  that,  being  a  physician,  he  was 
obliged  to  influence  others  and  was  unable  to  escape  their  influ- 
ence on  himself.  Thus  absorbed  in  the  secrets  of  the  universe,  the 
old  man  and  the  maiden  would  forget  themselves  until  fatigue 
warned  them  that  it  was  time  to  return  and  seek  repose. 

Irma  would  often  say  that  she  intended  to  spend  much  of  her 
time  with  the  Gunthers,  during  the  winter.  The  young  widow  and 
her  child  had  now  come  home  to  live  with  the  father. 

lima  would  rarely  retire  for  the  night,  without  first  visiting  Wal- 
purga,  who  would  generally  lie  awake  and  wait  for  her,  and  who, 
if  she  had  fallen  asleep,  would,  as  if  conscious  of  her  presence, 
awaken  as  soon  as  Irma  drew  near.  They  would  sit  talking  to 
each  other  for  some  time.  Walpurga  had  always  much  to  relate 
about  her  clever  prince,  and  still  more  about  the  good  queen. 

The  days  grew  shorter,  the  evenings  longer.  The  gardeners 
were  kept  busy,  clearing  the  fallen  leaves  from  the  paths,  before  the 
court  awoke.  It  was  said  they  would  soon  leave  the  summer 
palace  and  return  to  the  capital.  The  king  had  preceded  them 
thither.  Surrounded  by  a  new  ministry,  of  which  Schnabelsdorf 
was  president,  he  opened  the  parliament  in  person. 

Gunther  felt  sorry,  and  expressed  his  regrets  to  Irma,  that  the 
king,  in  appointing  a  reactionary  and  ultramontane  ministry,  had 
taken  a  step  fraught  with  serious  consequences.  In  firm  and  meas- 
ured language,  he  inveighed  against  all  the  romance  of  the  convent. 
Irma  had  not  enough  courage  to  confess  how  much  she  was  to 
blame  in  all  this  and  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that  the 
king  had,  in  the  queen's  presence,  rejected  all  outside  influence. 
For  the  first  time,  she  became  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  antagonism 
to  the  Doctor  who,  in  her  eyes,  now  seemed  illiberal  and  filled 
with  the  fanaticism  of  unbelief.  He  was  a  stranger  to  the  greatest 
glory  in  life,  the  flights  of  a  soaring  soul,  and  anathematized  them 
by  the  words  "romance"  and  "sentimentalism."  The  king,  soli- 
tan-  and  alone  while  breasting  the  torrent  of  public  opinion, 
seemed  to  her  greater  than  ever  before.  The  idea  that  she  had 
once  expressed  in  a  letter  to  Emma,  gradually  became  clearer  to 
her.  No  one  but  a  king,  and  such  a  one  as  he,  has  the  large  and 
comprehensive  mind  that  will  not  suffer  itself  to  be  cramped  by 
the  systems  of  the  schools.  Logic  is  only  part  of  the  human  mind. 
The  complete  man  alone  possesses  a  complete  mind. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  197 

Even  such  a  mind  and  such  a  man  as  the  Doctor,  seemed  to  her 
to  suffer  by  comparison  with  the  only  one. 

Walpurga  was  quite  uneasy  on  account  of  the  second  change  of 
residence,  and  complained  to  Irma  that  it  was  a  fearful  life.  "  Why, 
it 's  nothing  but  living  in  carriages.  You  never  get  a  chance  to  feel 
settled  anywhere.  It  do  n't  seem  right  to  go  and  come  in  this 
way.  Of  course,  they  drive  the  cattle  away  from  the  mountain- 
meadows  when  the  grass  is  gone,  but  cattle  are  n't  human  beings. 
I  can't  help  pitying  my  poor  prince,  for  there  's  nothing  in  his 
youth  worth  remembering.  When  he  gets  older,  he  won't  be  able 
to  say :  '  I  used  to  be  at  home  here,  and  saw  these  trees  blossom 
and  bear  fruit ;  and  then  the  snow  covered  them,  and,  after  that, 
the  spring  came ' — and  if  the  poor  child  has  n't  that,  where  '11  it 
ever  have  a  home  ?  " 

At  breakfast,  Irma  repeated  Walpurga's  words,  and  found  much 
that  was  affecting  and  poetical  in  this  identifying  one's  self  with 
nature,  and  in  this  attachment  to  lifeless  objects.  The  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  the  breakfast-room  could  not  understand  where  the 
poetry  lay,  for,  to  them,  it  seemed  narrow-mindedness.  Baron 
Schoning  interposed,  and  reminded  them  that  this  attachment  to 
the  soil  possessed  its  advantages  ;  for  it  was  thus  alone  that  solitary 
heights  and  valleys  were  inhabited.  He  maintained  that  the 
common,  people  could  only  be  governed  by  the  force  of  habit ;  that 
man,  as  a  free  agent,  must  rid  himself  of  such  restraint ;  and  that 
the  true  poetic  idea  was  that  of  Pegasus  resting  on  the  earth,  but 
yet  able  to  wing  his  flight  aloft. 

Schoning  looked  about  him  as  if  he  expected  applause  for  his 
profound  remark.  It  failed,  however,  to  produce  an  impression. 
He  had  so  constantly  ministered  to  the  amusement  of  the  court, 
that  all  his  attempts  to  be  serious  were  failures,  suggesting  the 
success  with  which  a  well-known  comedian  or  country  bumpkin 
would  undertake  a  tragic  role.  Schoning  imagined  that  Irma  un- 
derstood him  better  than  any  of  the  others,  but  even  she  was  not 
in  a  humor  to  assent  that  day.  Gunther  was  the  first  to  take  up 
the  conversation,  saying  that  the  present  desire  for  incessant  travel 
constituted  a  new  impulse  in  the  history  of  mankind,  and  one 
which  no  former  age  had  known  to  the  same  extent.  The  gen- 
eration which,  even  in  its  cradle,  had  heard  the  whistle  of  the 
locomotive,  must,  of  necessity,  be  different  from  its  predecessors. 
But  yet  poetry  would  never  die,  for  every  mother  would  teach  her 
child  to  sing,  and  time,  the  everlasting  mother,  would  teach  unto 
the  children  of  a  new  generation,  new  songs,  different  from  thosi1 
of  the  past  but  none  the  less  full  of  beauty  and  feeling. 

The  queen  nodded  to  Gunther,  and  her  face  was  mantled  with 
blushes,  while  she  said  that  she  agreed  with  Walpurga,  and  would 
rather  remain  in  one  place  and  become  settled  there. 

The  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  court  were  loud  in  their  praise 


198  O.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

of  the  queen's  beautiful  and  feeling  remarks,  while,  in  their  hearts, 
many  considered  them  just  as  foolish  as  Walpurga's. 

When  they  had  left  the  table,  the  queen  said  to  Irma : 

"  Dear  Countess,  you  should  n't  say  such  things  at  table,  or  in 
the  presence  of  company.  Let  me  assure  you,  they  are  out  of  place 
there.  Walpurga's  thoughts  are  like  fresh  wild-flowers,  which, 
when  plucked  and  bound  into  a  bouquet,  soon  wither  and  die.  It 
:s  only  artificially  cultivated  flowers  that  are  adapted  for  the  salon, 
and  the  best  of  all  are  those  made  of  tulle  and  gauze.  Hereafter, 
confide  such  things  to  me  alone." 

Inna  was  delighted  with  this  agreement ;  but  when,  at  noon,  the 
queen  told  Walpurga  what  she  had  heard  about  her,  the  latter  was 
angry  at  Irma.  It  won't  do,  thought  she,  to  repeat  everything 
you  hear.  She  felt  ashamed  of  herself,  and  became  shy  and  re- 
served in  Irma's  presence.  It  was  only  when  she  was  alone  with 
the  prince,  that  she  whispered:  "Yes,  my  little  wanderer;  after 
this,  you  shall  be  the  only  one  to  whom  I  '11  tell  even-thing. 
You  're  the  cleverest  in  the  whole  house,  and  the  only  one  who 
holds  his  tongue.  You  won't  say  a  word  to  any  one,  will  you  ?  " 

Walpurga  was  quite  troubled  by  the  idea  of  leaving,  and  Baum 
was  the  only  one  who  knew  how  to  pacify  her.  He  said  : 

"  Do  n't  be  foolish.  What  do  the  furniture  and  the  trees  and  all 
the  rest  matter  to  you  ?  They  remain  here.  You  step  into  the 
carriage  and  ride  to  the  city  and,  when  you  get  there,  find  all  you 
need,  ready  for  you.  There  are  hands  and  feet  enough  to  attend 
to  all  that." 

Walpurga  gradually  quieted  herself.  They  waited  for  the  first 
sunny  day,  and  then  the  queen,  the  prince,  Walpurga  and  the  royal 
suite  drove  to  the  capital.  The  summer  palace  was  once  more 
lonely  and  deserted ;  dead  leaves  filled  the  paths  in  the  park 
and  were  no  longer  swept  away.  The  great  colored  lamps  of  the 
verandah  were  put  away  for  safe  keeping,  and  the  large  windows 
were  covered  with  layers  of  straw.  The  summer  palace  entered 
on  its  winter  sleep,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  new  life  awakened  at 
the  city  palace. 

CHAPTER   V. 

THE  royal  palace  was  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  and  was  without 
walls  or  fosse.  Although  its  windows  looked  down  on  the 
busy  streets,  it  seemed  as  if  it  stood  on  some  fortified  height,  and 
as  if  outworks  for  offense  and  defense  surrounded  it  for  some  dis- 
tance. It  was  only  at  rare  intervals,  and  in  indistinct  utterances, 
that  a  stray  echo  of  popular  feeling  penetrated  so  far.  There  were 
hundreds  of  human  beings,  from  the  lowest  kitchen  servant  up  to 
the  major-domo,  who  served  in  place  of  wall  or  fosse,  and  pre- 
vented all  except  the  favored  few  from  entering  the  royal  presence. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  199 

The  king  was  in  a  happy  mood  and  yet  his  cheerfulness  seemed 
forced.  He  was  a  prey  to  a  restless  disposition  which  would  not 
permit  him  to  dwell  long  on  any  one  subject.  From  morning  till 
night,  he  required  constant  change  and  gay  excitement. 

If  he  had  been  asked  to  answer  on  his  conscience,  he  would 
frankly  have  said  :  "  I  respect  the  constitution  and  am  faithful  to 
it" — and  yet,  at  heart,  he  was  unconquerably  opposed  to  it,  for  it 
cramped  his  individuality.  It  was  in  the  same  way  that  he  loved 
his  wife,  while  his  heart  paid  homage  to  her  friend  ;  but  that  he 
should  be  subjected  to  the  law,  or  even  to  his  own  desires,  was 
equally  distasteful  to  him— for  that,  too,  would  retard  the  full 
development  of  his  new  individuality.  He  regarded  all  that 
sivored  of  opposition,  whether  it  was  the  constitution  of  the  state 
or  the  opinion  of  a  kind  friend,  as  an  attempt  to  subjugate  him.  He 
desired  to  be  perfectly  free  and  yet  not  without  law  and  affection. 
He  could  not  forego  the  approbation  of  those  to  whom  he  was,  at 
the  same  time,  unwilling  to  accord  the  right  to  dissent.  He  would 
have  liked  his  own  people  to  regard  him  with  as  loyal  an  affection 
as  that  which  the  English  bestow  upon  their  rulers,  but  did  not 
care  to  have  it  interfere  with  his  following  the  dictates  of  his  own 
judgment.  He  studied  the  laws  of  the  state,  but  favored  such 
interpretations  thereof  as  rendered  them  nugatory.  He  loved  the 
constitution,  much  as  he  did  his  wife  ;  that  is,  he  prized  her  virtues, 
and  aimed  to  be  faithful  to  her  without  sacrificing  his  inclinations. 

The  journals  of  the  day  reached  the  king  in  the  form  of  an 
abstract,  which  was  prepared  in  the  literary  court-kitchen.  By  his 
orders,  stenographic  reports  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies  were  brought  to  his  cabinet,  but  for  the  greater  part  they 
remained  unread.  There  was  too  much  to  be  done,  too  much  of 
ceremonious  receptions,  parading  and  exercises.  The  new  arsenal 
was  now  under  roof,  and  they  were  engaged  in  supplying  the 
decorations,  devices  for  some  of  which  were  prepared  by  the  king 
himself. 

The  great  autumn  manoeuvres  took  place  near  the  palace. 
There  was  much  talk  of  changes,  and,  among  the  soldiers,  great 
enthusiasm  thereat.  The  queen  and  Irma,  attired  in  the  uniform 
of  the  queen's  guards,  appeared  on  horseback.  The  queen  looked 
like  a  patron  saint,  while  Irma,  with  her  triumphant  air,  looked 
like  a  commander.  At  the  word  of  command,  the  huzzas  of  the 
soldiers  filled  the  air,  and  it  seemed  as  if  their  joyous  shouts 
would  never  end. 

Colonel  Bronnen  was  quite  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  Irma. 
It  was  generally  believed  thai  he  would,  before  long,  sue  for  her 
hand.  Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  they  were 
already  secretly  betrothed,  and  that  Irma's  father,  the  old  misan- 
thrope, had  refused  his  consent,  but  that  the  beautiful  countess 
would  be  of  age  within  a  month.  No  regiment  could  have  wished 
for  a  more  beautiful  colonel's  wife. 


200  0-Y  THE  HEIGHTS 

Irma's  life  seemed  to  glide  en  in  ecstatic  happ'ness.  Sh<>  d;d 
not  even  I. now  that  the  world  had  betrothed  her.  \\  hen  she  nu-t 
the  Doctor,  she  would  say:  "I  think  of  visiting-  your  dear  family, 
every  clay,  but  there  is  always  something  to  prevent  me  ;  I  '11 
surely  come  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after." 

Weeks  passed  before  she  paid  the  visit,  and  when  she  did  call, 
the  servant  informed  her  that  the  family  were  not  at  home.  Irma 
had  intended  to  call  again,  and  finally  concluded  that  they  had 
treated  her  rudely  in  neglecting  to  return  her  visit.  She  waited, 
and,  at  last,  dropped  all  intercourse  with  them.  It  is  far  better, 
she  thought,  in  one's  own  sphere  ;  aside  from  this,  they  were  in 
mourning  at  the  Doctor's,  and  Irma  was  not  in  the  mood  to  seek 
sorrowful  scenes.  The  Doctor  himself  even  appeared  ill  at  ease, 
for  he  had  recently  said  to  her : 

"  Most  persons,  even  those  who  are  matured  and  self-conscious, 
exhaust  their  joys,  just  as  children  do.  Like  them,  they  indulge 
their  love  of  pleasure  without  stint,  and  then  follows  the  reaction, 
when  joy  is  followed  by  tears."  Irma  avoided  all  further  discussion 
with  him. 

Rainy  days  came,  and  no  one  could  leave  the  house.  Walpurga 
would  go  about  as  if  a  prisoner,  longing  to  be  at  the  summer 
palace,  although,  if  she  had  been  there  at  that  season  of  the  year, 
she  would  have  been  obliged  to  remain  indoors.  "  Uncle  was 
right,"  said  she,  jestingly,  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  "At  the 
christening,  he  said  I  was  a  cow,  and  now  I  can  fancy  how  a  cow 
must  feel,  when  it  comes  down  from  the  mountain  meadows  to  its 
stall  in  the  valley.  Grubersepp,  who  lives  at  our  place,  has  a 
mountain  meadow  and  whenever  his  cows  are  brought  home,  they 
keep  on  lowing  for  three  days,  and  won't  eat  a  thing.  If  I  only 
knew  how  things  are  at  home  ;  if  I  only  felt  sure  that  they  keep 
my  child  indoors ;  but  I  '11  write  at  once." 

Walpurga  wrote  an  anxious,  sorrowful  letter  and  was  not  content 
until  good  tidings  came  in  return. 

Whenever  Irma  entered  the  crown  prince's  apartments,  even  in 
the  gloomiest  weather,  her  presence  seemed  like  sunshine.  There 
was  rarely  a  day  that  she  did  not  come,  although  her  visits  were 
shorter  than  they  had  been.  She  said  that  the  preparations  for 
her  brother's  wedding  took  up  so  much  of  her  time. 

"I'd  like  to  see  your  father,"  said  Walpurga,  one  day;  "he 
must  be  a  splendid  man  to  have  such  good  and  beautiful  children." 

Irma  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

"If  father  comes  I  '11  bring  him  to  you,"  said  she,  as  if  to 
silence  her.  The  innocent  remark  of  this  simple-minded  woman 
had  deeply  moved  her,  and  the  anticipation  of  brilliant  festivities 
gave  way  to  sad  and  sombre  thoughts.  She  was  often  in  the  city, 
either  alone  or  attended  by  her  brother,  while  making  purchases 
for  a  complete  and  luxuriously  furnished  household.  Women  in 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  201 

large  towns  find  as  much  pleasure  in  shopping  as  children  in  the 
woods  do  in  gathering  wild  flowers.  To  go  from  shop  to  shop, 
to  compaie,  to  select,  to  purchase — it  is  just  like  plucking  flowers. 
Irma  was  enough  of  a  child  and  woman  of  the  world  to  delight  in 
this,  and  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  furnishing  a  house  according  to 
her  own  taste.  The  workmen  and  shopkeepers  exaggerated  noth- 
ing when  they  said  that  they  had  never  before  met  one  whose 
orders  showed  such  excellent  judgment.  Irma  was  not  amiable 
and  gracious,  she  was  simply  courteous.  She  never  apologized 
for  the  trouble  she  gave  the  shopkeepers  and  workmen,  for  that 
was  part  of  their  business.  She  addressed  them  respectfully,  freely 
expressed  her  approval,  when  their  suggestions  were  in  good  taste, 
and  thanked  them  for  correcting  her,  when  her  demands  were 
impracticable. 

Could  Irma  have  heard  how  sewing-women,  workmen  and  shop- 
men praised  her,  it  would  have  gladdened  her  heart. 

It  struck  her  as  very  singular  that  every  one  would  make  the 
mistake  of  speaking  of  the  new  establishment  as  her  own,  and  not 
as  her  brother's. 

The  wedding  was  solemnized.  Irma  had  no  opportunity  of  in- 
troducing her  father  to  Walpurga,  for  he  did  not  come.  During 
those  few  days,  she  neglected  to  visit  the  crown  prince's  apart- 
ments, and  when  she  again  went — she  had  dreaded  Walpurga's 
questions— the  nurse  made  no  allusion  to  the  wedding  or  to  her 
father. 

Irma  felt  that  Mademoiselle  Kramer  had  informed  Walpurga  of 
the  state  of  affairs.  .She  would  gladly  have  placed  matters  before 
her  in  their  true  light,  but  that  were  impracticable.  The  common 
people  could  only  understand  simple  relations,  and  an  involved  and 
complicated  story,  such  as  hers,  would  pass  Walpurga's  compre- 
hension. Irma  forced  herself  to  appear  the  same  to  Walpurga  as 
she  had  always  been.  The  latter  observed  this,  although  she 
said  nothing  about  it.  She,  too,  had  become  strangely  reserved. 

Winter  came  in  all  its  might.  Walpurga  could  not  go  out  into 
the  open  air,  but  found  pleasure  in  taking  long  walks  with  the 
crown  prince,  inside  the  palace.  A  whole  suite  of  apartments  had 
been  thrown  open  and  heated  for  this  purpose. 

"  You  may  sing  if  you  like,"  the  Doctor  had  said  to  her.  But 
Walpurga  could  not  utter  a  sound  in  the  grand  saloons,  for  she 
was  afraid  of  the  pictures  of  men  in  coats  of  mail,  and  of  women 
with  stiff  ruffs  or  bare  necks,  who  were  looking  down  upon  her. 

"  I  know  what  I  am  going  to  say  is  very  stupid,  and  you  must 
promise  not  to  repeat  it,"  said  she,  one  day,  in  confidence  to  Irma. 

"  What  is  it  ?     You  can  always  tell  me  everything." 

"  It 's  very  silly,  I  'm  sure,  but  it  seems  to  me  as  if  those  mec 
and  women  can't  find  rest  in  the  other  world  and  have  got  to  b' 
here  all  the  time  and  look  on  at  what  happens." 
9* 


202  0_Y  THE  H  RIGHTS. 

"  That  is  n't  at  all  stupid,"  said  Irma,  smiling.  "  But,  pay  atten 
tion,  Walpurga,  to  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you.  To  stand  here, 
and  feel  that  your  father,  your  great-grandfather,  and  others  stil.' 
further  back,  are  looking  at  you — that  's  what  is  meant  by  nobility 
Thus,  we  are  always  in  the  company  of  our  ancestors." 

"  I  understand  ;  it  's  just  the  same  as  if,  in  your  heart,  you  were 
always  saying  a  mass  for  the  repose  of  their  souls." 

"That  ;sit,  exactly." 

.     Irma  thought  of  repeating  this  conversation  to  the  queen.     But, 

/no ;  she  would  tell  it  to  the  king.     His  was  a  truly  poetic  and  ex- 

}  altecl  conception  of  all  things.     Irma  had  accustomed  herself  to 

I  tell  the  king  all  that  happened  to  her.     She  spoke  to  him  of  all  her 

j  thoughts,  and  of  every  book  that  she  read,  and  thus  found  all  her 

experiences  invested  with  a  twofold  interest.     He  was  so  grateful, 

so  appreciative,  so  happy,  and  was,  moreover,  so  burdened  down 

with  the  cares  of  state  that  it  was  a  duty  to  cheer  him  with  other 

thoughts. 

At  the  summer  palace,  the  trees  were  covered  with  snow  and 
the  windows  were  protected  with  straw ;  but  in  the  palace  at  the 
capital,  pleasure  reigned  supreme.  Here  all  was  fragrance,  splen- 
dor, glitter,  and,  in  Bruno's  house,  it  seemed  as  if  the  feasting 
would  never  end.  The  court  had  honored  the  opening  fete  with 
their  presence  and,  throughout  the  city,  all  spoke  of  the  queen's 
great  kindness,  in  visiting  a  sister-in-law  of  so  peculiar  a  kind,  and 
of  her  having,  in  the  most  affable  and  friendly  manner,  actually  sat 
on  the  same  sofa  with  her.  The  old  Baroness  had  also  wished  to 
attend  the  first  fete  given  by  her  children,  but,  having  been  in- 
formed that,  in  that  case,  the  queen  would  not  come,  she  remained 
at  her  castle  in  the  little  country  town. 

Arabella  had  written  to  Bruno's  father.  Her  husband  had  not 
forbidden  her  doing  so,  but  he  had  told  her,  beforehand,  that  she 
would  receive  no  answer.  He  had  every  reason  to  feel  assured  of 
this,  for  he  had  never  forwarded  the  letter. 

Irma  consoled  her,  and  found  it  painful  to  offer  such  a  descrip- 
tion of  her  father's  peculiarities  as  would  satisfactorily  account  for 
his  silence.  It  seemed  like  treachery,  but  she  could  not  help  it,  for 
why  should  the  poor  child  be  made  to  suffer.  But  fete  succeeded 
fete  with  such  rapidity,  that  the  father,  the  whilom  dancer — aye, 
even  her  own  thoughts,  were  soon  forgotten. 

The  Chamber  of  Deputies  was  not  far  from  the  royal  stables, 
and,  while  the  delegates  were  heatedly  discussing  so-called  decisive 
questions,  the  royal  riding  school  was  the  scene  of  a  rehearsal  for 
a  tournament  in  the  knightly  costume  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Prince 
Arnold  who,  as  the  story  went,  wras  wooing  princess  Angelica,  was 
chief  of  the  gentlemen,  and  Irma  of  the  ladies. 

Although  it  was  merely  by  accident  that  the  tournament  opened 
on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  Chamber  was  dissolved; 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  203 

the  circumstance  occasioned  much  ironical  comment  throughout 
the  capital. 

Irma  was  the  central  figure  in  the  brilliant  scene.  When  she 
entered  the  royal  box,  the  king  lavished  loud  praise  upon  her  beauty 
and  skill. 

The  queen  added  her  praises  to  his  and  said : 

"  You  must  feel  happy,  Countess  Irma,  to  think  that  you  afford 
us  so  much  pleasure." 

Irma  bowed  low  and  kissed  the  queen's  hand. 

There  was  hardly  time  to  rest  from  one  fete,  before  another  suc- 
ceeded it.  The  grand  sleighing-party,  which  was  especially  bril- 
liant, excited  the  whole  city.  The  king  and  the  queen  drove  in  an 
open  sleigh,  and,  in  spite  of  their  dissatisfaction  with  the  policy  of 
the  government,  the  citizens  were  delighted  to  see  the  royal  couple 
so  happy.  Following  immediately  after  the  sleigh  of  the  prince  of 
the  house  came  that  of  Bruno  and  his  handsome  wife  ;  but,  rich  as 
were  the  trappings  and  handsome  as  were  the  couple,  all  glances 
were  quicklv  turned  to  the  next  sleigh  in  which  sat  Irma  and  Baron 
Schoning.  /She  had  pitched  upon  him  as  the  most  convenient 
dummy .T  The  countenances  of  the  lookers-on  were  expressive  of 
mingled  surprise  and  derision. 

"  If  Hansei  could  only  see  it !    How  I  wish  he  could  !    One  would 
hardly  believe  it !  "  said  Walpurga,  as  she  looked  out  of  her  win 
dow  at  the  sleighing-party. 

No  one  had  noticed  her  but  Irma,  who  nodded  to  her.  How 
radiant  she  was ;  she  had  never  looked  so  beautiful.  The  clear 
cold  air  of  winter  had  wondrously  animated  her  features.  She  was 
sitting  in  a  swan,  drawn  by  two  white  horses,  and  Walpurga  said 
to  herself:  "Oh,  you  dear  creature!  You  just  look  as  if  you 
could  n't  help  riding  to  heaven  ;  but  you  '11  never  marry  that  clown 
aside  of  you."  The  last  words  she  had  uttered  in  quite  a  loud 
voice. 

"She  won't  marry  at  all,"  said  a  voice  behind  her. 

Walpurga  looked  around,  startled.  Baum  had  been  standing 
behind  her. 

"What  an  everlasting  eaves-dropper  you  are,"  said  she.  All 
her  joy  had  been  imbittered,  but  this  did  not  last  long,  for  Irma 
soon  came  and  said  : 

"  Walpurga,  I  can  only  warm  myself  with  you.  It  is  bitter  cold, 
and  you  're  like  a  good  warm  stove.  You  're  growing  as  fat  and 
as  broad  as  a  Dutch  oven." 

Walpurga  was  delighted  with  her  friend.  She  was  always  com  • 
ing  to  see  her,  and  allowing  her  to  share  in  all  her  pleasures. 

But  Walpurga  started  with  fright,  when  the  king  suddenly  en 
tered.  Courteously  bowing  to  Irma,  he  said  : 

"  A  letter  has  just  come  for  vou  ;  I  thought  I  would  bring  it  my- 
self." 


204  CLV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Irma  looked  down,  while  she  took  the  letter. 

"Pray  onen  it,"  said  the  king,  while  he  motioned  Walpurga  tr. ' 
follow  him  into  the  prince's  room.     When  he  came  out  again,  the 
king  said  : 

"Did  the  letter  bring  you  good  news?  " 

Irma  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  and  at  last  said :  "  It  was  from 
my  d-arest  friend.'' 

The  king  nodded,  as  if  pleased  that  the  letter,  which  had  been 
written  by  himself,  should  receive  such  an  answer.  He  added,  in 
a  careless  tone : 

"  Dear  Countess,  you  will,  of  course,  feel  sad  at  parting  from 
\Yalpurga,  but  her  situation  must  necessarily  end  with  time. 
Think  of  some  other  position  for  her,  so  that  you  may  keep^  hei 
near  you." 

Walpurga  drew7  a  long  breath.  "Give  me  the  farm,"  lay  on  hei 
lips,  but  she  could  not  utter  the  words.  She  felt  as  if  her  tongue 
clave  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

The  king  soon  took  his  leave.  He  always  came  and  wrent  so 
quickly. 

••  Xo,  you  shall  not  remain  here,"  said  Irma  when  she  was  alone 
with  Walpurga.  "  It  is  better,  a  thousand  times  better  for  you,  that 
you  should  go  home  again.  Xext  summer,  I  '11  come  to  see  you. 
I  '11  never  forget  you.  Rely  upon  it." 

Walpurga  now  felt  bold  enough  to  express  her  wishes  in  regard 
to  the  farm  ;  but  Irma  was  immovable.  "  You  know  nothing  about 
these  things.  Take  my  word  for  it — it  will  be  far  better  for  you,  if 
you  go  home  again." 


"H 


CHAPTER     VI. 

O  W  do  you  live  in  the  country  in  winter  ?  "  asked  the  queen 
while  she  sat  by  the  cradle  of  her  child. 

"Well  enough,"  replied  Walpurga,  "but  wood  is  getting  to  be 
quite  dear.  We  're  glad  when  spring  returns.  To  be  sure,  my 
Hansei  has  good  earnings  in  the  winter,  when  the  wood  can  be 
brought  down  the  snow  road  to  the  valley.  Mother  always  says 
our  Lord  's  the  greatest  of  all  road  masters,  for  He  can  make  roads 
and  make  it  easy  to  bring  the  wood  where  no  man  can." 

"  You  have  a  good  mother.  Give  her  my  love,  and  when  I  again 
go  to  the  mountains,  I  shall  visit  her." 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  would  !  " 

"And  now,"  resumed  the  queen,  "tell  me  how  you  pass  youi 
time  during  the  winter." 

"When  the  housework  for  the  day  is  done,  the  women  spin. 
The  men  spend  the  day  in  the  forest,  cutting  wood  and,  when 
night  comes,  they  're  so  tired  that  they  hardly  ever  cut  kindling- 
wood." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  205 

"  And  do  you  sing  much  at  such  times  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     Why  not  ?  " 

"And  do  you  never  read  to  each  other?" 

"  No,  never.  But  we  like  to  tell  stories,  and  frighten  each  other 
as  much  as  we  can." 

"  And  do  you  sometimes  dance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  carnival  time  ;  but  there  's  not  much  of  that  nowadays. 
They  say  it  used  to  be  much  better  in  old  times." 

"  Do  you  never  find  the  day  hang  heavy  on  your  hands  ?  " 

"  No,  never ;  we  've  no  time  for  that." 

The  queen  smiled  when  she  looked  at  the  astral  lamp  that  stood 
on  the  table,  and  thought  of  the  many  expedients  that  society  em- 
ployed 'to  kill  time. 

The  queen  at  length  said  :  "  And  do  you  feel  quite  sure  that  your 
husband  is  always  true  to  you  ?  Do  you  never  think  of  his  being 
otherwise  ?  " 

"  Mother  often  says  that  the  men  are  all  good  for  nothing,  but 
she  says  my  Hansei  's  not  like  the  rest  of  'em.  He  'd  be  heartily 
ashamed  of  himself  if  he  spoke  a  loving  word  to  another  woman. 
It  would  haunt  him  day  and  night,  and  he  'd  never  be  able  to  look 
any  one  in  the  face  again.  He  's  not  one  of  your  sharp,  clever 
folks — far  from  it ;  but  he  's  good,  thoroughly  good  at  heart ;  a 
little  bit  close  in  money  matters,  and  he  's  always  afraid  that,  some 
time  or  other,  we  might  come  to  want.  However,  one  who  has  to 
save  every  kreutzer  can  easily  get  used  to  that.  But,  thank  God, 
that  's  over,  now." 

When  Walpurga  had  once  begun  to  talk,  she  would,  unless 
interrupted,  run  on  like  a  mountain  spring.  She  had  a  thousand 
and  one  little  stories  to  tell. — How  she  had,  for  the  first  time, 
bought  three  geese,  two  white  and  one  gray ;  how  many  feathers 
she  got  from  them,  and  what  a  good  price  she  obtained  for  the 
feathers  ;  and  that  she  now  had  eight  ducks — they  were  much 
more  useful  than  geese,  and  required  but  little  food  ;  and  that  her 
goat  was  wondrous  clever.  They  had  once  had  a  sheep,  but  that 
was  nothing.  They  belong  in  flocks  and  do  n't  thrive  well  alone. 
At  last,  Walpurga  said  that  she  could  hardly  believe  that  they 
really  had  two  cows  of  their  own  in  the  stable.  She  had  never,  in 
all  her  life,  even  wished  for  so  much.  And  then  she  spoke  of  the 
innkeeper  and  said  that,  although  one  could  n't  trust  him,  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  him,  for,  if  he  was  your 
enemy,  you  might  as  well  be  put  out  of  the  village  and  the  principal 
house  would  be  closed  to  you.  The  innkeeper  would,  once  in  a 
while,  do  you  a  favor,  if  he  lost  nothing  by  it.  He  had  paid  a  good . 
price  for  her  ducks  and  fish,  and  if  you  should  happen  to  need  it, 
you  could  always  get  a  little  from  him  on  trust.  She  did  n't  want 
to  speak  ill  of  him,  but.  he  had  once  been  impudent  to  her ;  but 
she  had  taught  him  a  lesson  that  he  'd  remember  as  long  as  he 


zo6  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

lived.  She  hoped  the  queen  would  n't  do  anything  to  him  foi 
that ;  he  was  good  enough,  after  all,  considering  that  he  was  an 
innkeeper.  But  there  were  ever  so  many  good  people  in  theit 
neighborhood.  They  did  n't  give  anything  away,  and  she  would  n't 
want  their  gifts,  but  when  you  knowr  that  on  every  hillside  there 
are  people  who  feel  kindly  towards  you,  it  makes  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood seem  as  if  it  were  one  warm  room. 

The  queen  smiled. 

Walpurga  went  on  talking.  The  more  she  talked,  the  more  the 
child  prattled  and  crowed  and  clapped  its  hands ;  the  sound  of  his 
nur>«.''s  voice  pleased  him  and  Walpurga  said  : 

"  He  's  just  like  a  canary  bird  ;  when  there  's  lots  of  chattering 
in  the  room,  he  joins  in  with  his  mem-  song.  Is  n't  it  so,  you 
canary  bird?"  said  she,  shaking  her  head  at  the  child,  while  it 
crowed  yet  more  lustily  than  before. 

Buried  in  thought,  the  queen  passed  her  hand  over  her  face  sev- 
eral times.  Walpurga's  words  had  transported  her  into  another 
world.  And  so,  thought  she,  there  are  other  beings,  beneath  me 
and  far  away,  who  pass  their  days  in  work  and  care  and  yet  are 
happy. 

••  What  makes  you  look  so  sad  ?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

Her  question  had  recalled  the  queen  to  herself.  No  one  had 
ever  read  her  face  in  this  way.  No  one  could,  or  would  have 
questioned  her  thus. 

The  queen  made  no  answer,  and  Walpurga  continued : 

41  Oh,  my  dear  queen,  I  can't  help  thinking  you  must  have  a 
hard  time  of  it.  To  have  plenty  of  everything  is  n't  so  good  for 
one  after  all.  It  's  like  having  your  heaven  on  earth.  Have  you 
never  felt  lonely  and  lorn  ?  When  one  wakes  to  sorrow  and  thinks 
that  one  still  has  sound  limbs,  and  can  work,  and  can  see  the  sun 
and  know  that  there  are  still  good  people  in  the  world — it 's  then 
that  you  really  feel  at  home  in  the  world.  Oh,  my  dear  queen, 
do  n't  be  sad.'  You  could  n't,  if  you  knew  how  happy  you  ought 
to  feel." 

The  queen  was  silent  for  a  long  while.  There  must  have  been 
something  in  Walpurga  that  suggested  the  thought,  for  she  at  last 
said:  "They  play  William  Tell  to-night.  I  would  like  you  to  go 
to  the  theatre,  for  once." 

Walpurga  said  : 

"  I  'd  like  to  go,  well  enough.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  has  told 
me  a  great  deal  about  it ;  it  must  be  splendid,  but  I  can't  take  the 
child  with  me,  and  I  can't  leave  it  alone  for  so  long  a  time.  See 
how  he  listens,  and  what  a  cross  voice  he  has  already.  He  under- 
stands even-thing  we  say,  I  '11  bet  my  head  on  it." 

The  boy  began  to  cry.  Walpurga  took  him  up  in  her  arms, 
fondled  him  and  sang  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  207 

I  won't  leave  you  a  minute, 
To  see  the  finest  play ; 
It  's  better  far,  and  safer, 
If  at  home  with  you  I  stay. 

]      The  little  prince  was  soon  quieted  and  fell  isleep. 

"Yes,  you  're  right,"  said  the  queen,  aftei  a  pause.  "Remain 
just  as  you  are,  and  when  you  go  home  again,  do  n't  think  of 
what  is  past.  Only  think  that  your  lot  is  the  best  in  the  world." 

The  queen  left.  Walpurga  felt  like  telling  Mademoiselle  Kramer 
that  the  queen  was  very  sad,  and  was  about  to  ask  what  could  be 
the  matter;  but,  with  clever  tact,  she  refrained  from  alluding  to 
the  subject.  The  queen  had  been  so  confiding  and  so  sisterly  with 
her,  that  it  would  not  do  to  speak  of  it  to  any  one  else  ;  and 
perhaps,  too,  the  queen  did  not  wish  others  to  know  that  she  was 
sad. 

For  many  days,  there  was  a  pilgrimage  of  court  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen to  Walpurga  for  the  sake  of  seeing  something  that  was 
quite  new  to  them.  Doctor  Gunther  had  given  Walpurga  per- 
mission to  get  a  distaff  and  spin.  To  see  a  spinning-wheel  in 
use  seemed  like  a  fairy-tale.  Few  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  had 
ever  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and  now  they  came  and  looked  on 
wonderingly.  Walpurga,  however,  always  laughed  merrily  when 
she  wound  a  fresh  thread  on  the  spindle.  All  the  court  came  to 
look  at  the  distaff,  and  Schoning  declared  that  this  was  the  imple- 
ment with  which  Little  Thornrose  had  injured  herself. 

Irma  was  again  the  object  of  envy,  for  she,  too,  knew  how  to 
spin  and,  like  a  village  neighbor,  would  sometimes  come  and  join 
threads  for  Walpurga.  They  both  sat  spinning  at  the  same  distaff, 
and,  while  they  worked,  their  voices  joined  in  merry  songs. 

"  What 's  to  be  done  with  what  we  spin  ?  "  asked  Irma. 

Walpurga  was  vexed,  for  the  question  had  destroyed  the  charm. 
She  said  :  "  Little  shirts  for  my  prince  ;  but  they  must  only  be  of 
my  spinning."  After  that,  she  laid  the  bobbins  which  Irma  had 
filled  in  a  separate  place.  The  threads  which  she  had  moistened 
with  her  own  lips,  should  be  the  only  ones  used  by  the  prince. 

Irma  could  not  help  telling  Baron  Schoning  of  Walpurga's  plan, 
and  it  suggested  to  him  a  poem,  in  which  he  alluded  to  the  legend 
of  a  fairy,  or  enchanted  princess,  who  was  spinning  flax  for  her 
darling.  The  queen  was  delighted  with  the  poem,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  and  with  perfect  sincerity,  praised  the  Baron's  verses. 

Walpurga  was  sitting  at  her  distaff  and  telling  the  prince  in  the 
cradle  the  story  of  the  King  of  the  Carps,  who  swims  about  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake.  He  's  more  than  seven  thousand  years  old, 
wears  a  crown  on  his  head,  has  a  great  long  beard  and,  up  over  him, 
millions  of  fishes  are  swimming  about  and  playing  tag  with  each 
other;  and  when  one  's  naughty  and  envious  and  quarrelsome  and 
disobedient,  the  naughty  pike  comes  and  eats  him,  and  then  comes 


208  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  fisherman  who  catches  the  pike,  and  then  comes  the  cook  who 
cuts  up  the  pike,  and  then  all  the  little  fishes  jump  out  and  go  back 
into  the  lake  and  come  to  life  and  tell  all  that 's  happened  to  them, 
how  dark  it  was  in  the  pike's  belly  and  how  much  brighter  it  is  in  the 
sea  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  the  pike  is  cut  in  pieces  and  eaten,  and 
if  one  's  not  very  careful,  he  '11  get  a  fish  bone  in  his  mouth,  and 
that  '11  make  him  cough,  and  Walpurga  coughed  with  great  skill. 

The  door  suddenly  opened  and,  to  Walpurga's  great  alarm,  a 
handsome  young  officer  entered,  went  straight  up  to  her,  saluted 
her  in  military  fashion,  and,  while  twirling  his  moustache,  asked  : 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  addressing  the  magic  spinner,  named 
Walpurga  Andermatten,  from  the  cottage  by  the  lake?  " 

"  Yes  ;  dear  me,  what  can  be  the  matter?  " 

"I  am  sent  by  the  spirit  Kussschmatzky,  and  he  commands  me 
to  kiss  you  three  times  in  order  to  break  a  spell." 

Walpurga  trembled.  It  was  her  own  fault.  Why  had  she  told 
the  child  so  many  fairy-tales,  and  now  it  had  all  come  true.  All 
at  once,  the  officer  threw  his  arms  about  her  neck,  and  kissed  her 
with  all  his  might,  and  then  laughed  until  he  could  no  longer  stand, 
and  seating  himself,  exclaimed  : 

"  And  so  you  really  do  n't  know  me  ?  That 's  splendid.  Do  n't 
you  know  your  friend  Irma,  any  more  ?  " 

"You  rogue!  You  good-for-nothing  rogue,"  burst  out  Wal- 
purga. "  Pardon  me,  Countess  Irma,  but  who  'd  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing ;  and  you  threw  me  into  such  a  fright !  What 's  it 
all  about?  Is  it  carnival  time  already?" 

"Walpurga,  if  you  understood  the  language,  you  might  see  me 
in  a  French  play  this  evening.  The  king  is  also  going  to  act.  I  'm 
sorry,  for  I  'd  rather  have  had  you  in  the  audience  than  any  of  the 
rest.'  But  I  Ve  had  sufficient  applause  already ;  you  did  n't  know 
me.  I  'm  glad  of  that  at  all  events." 

"And  I  'm  heartily  sorry,"  said  Walpurga,  becoming  quite 
serious.  "  Oh,  dear  Countess,  do  you  know  what  you  're  doing  ? 
It  's  the  greatest  sin  to  put  on  men's  clothes,  for  then  the  devil  's 
master  over  one.  Do  n't  laugh  at  me  !  I  'm  not  so  silly  as  you 
think.  It 's  just  as  true  as  can  be.  Grubersepp's  grandfather  had 
a  daughter,  and  she  had  a  sweetheart  who  was  off  at  the  wars, 
and  while  she  was  sitting  in  the  room  spinning,  just  as  I  was  a 
little  while  ago,  a  girl  dressed  herself  up  in  soldier's  clothes,  and 
went  into  the  room  and  acted  just  as  if  she  was  the  sweetheart 
himself.  Grubersepp's  daughter  fainted,  but  got  over  it  again  and 
the  disguised  girl  ran  away.  And  as  soon  as  she  got  out  of  the 
house,  there  were  hundreds  of  men  with  whips  and  horses'  heads, 
and  they  chased  her  ever  so  far  and,  at  last,  the  devil  caught  her, 
tore  her  to  pieces  and  threw  her  into  the  lake.  Yes,  it 's  a  true 
story ;  you  can  take  my  word  for  it.  There  are  people  enough 
living  to  this  day  who  knew  her." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  20$ 

"You  're  enough  to  make  one  quite  melancholy,"  said  Irma. 

"  Perhaps  such  things  only  happen  with  us,"  said  Walpurga,  as 
if  to  console  her.  "  The  soldiers  out  there,  with  their  swords  and 
muskets,  would  n't  let  the  devil  enter  here  ;  but,  my  clear,  good 
Countess,  do  n't  you  feel  ashamed  to  wear  those  clothes  before  so 
many  people?" 

"  You  belong  to  a  different  world  from  ours.  You  're  right,  and 
so  are  we,"  said  Irma,  walking  up  and  down  the  room  quickly  and 
rattling  her  spurs.  "  No,  Walpurga,  do  n't  alarm  yourself  about 
me,  and  do  n't  take  your  fright  so  much  to  heart." 

She  was  again  the  same  careless,  true-hearted  creature  that  she 
had  ever  been,  and  Walpurga  could  not  help  saying : 

"Oh,  how  beautiful !  you  look  just  like  a  prince." 

Walpurga's  eyes  rested  on  the  door  long  after  Irma  had  left.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  it  had  all  been  a  dream. 

Many  days  passed  by,  and  Irma  was  always  blithe  and  cheerful 
when  with  Walpurga.  They  would  sing  and  spin,  and  the  king 
and  queen  once  came  together — they  had  never  clone  so  before — • 
and  seated  themselves  by  the  child's  cradle,  while  they  looked  at, 
and  listened  to,  the  workers.  Walpurga  was  timid  at  first,  but, 
after  awhile,  sang  quite  cheerfully. 

A  veritable  surprise  was  in  store  for  Walpurga.  Christmas  eve 
arrived.  The  manner  in  which  it  was  observed  at  her  home,  had 
been  transplanted  hither  by  the  queen.  Walpurga  and  the  child 
were  conducted  into  the  great  saloon,  where  the  Christmas  tree 
was  all  ablaze  with  lights,  and  where  there  also  were  many  rich 
presents. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  in  a  fairy  grotto ;  there  was  so 
much  glitter  and  sparkle,  and  the  presents  were  so  rich  and  varied. 
The  child  shouted  for  joy  and  was  ever  putting  out  its  little  hands 
to  grasp  the  lights.  Walpurga  received  lavish  gifts,  but,  although 
the  dazzling  gold  and  the  rich  garnet  necklace  with  golden  clasp 
delighted  her,  a  well-arranged  table  covered  with  clothing  pleased 
her  more  than  all  the  rest.  There  was  a  complete  winter  suit  for 
Walpurga's  mother,  another,  with  a  beautiful  green  hat,  for  Han- 
sei,  and  many  articles  of  clothing  for  little  Burgei. 

"  Does  it  all  please  you  ?  "  asked  the  queen.  "  I  sent  to  your 
village  to  get  the  measure." 

"Oh,  how  it  does  please  me!"  said  Walpurga;  "if  I  could 
thank  you  as  many  times  as  ther^are  threads  in  these  clothes,  it 

ould  n't  be  enough." 

A  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  and  she  sent  Baum  to  her 
oom  to  get  the  yarn  which  was  hanging  there.  He  soon  returned 
with  it  and,  presenting  it  to  the  queen,  in  the  king's  presence,  she 
said:  "As  often  as  I  Ve  wetted  each  thread  with  my  lips,  do  I 
thank  you.  I  shall  pray  for  you  as  long  as  I  can  move  my  lips, 
and  all  will  go  well  with  you." 


210  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king  held  out  his  hand  to  her  and  said :  "  You  're  a  good 
soul,  but  do  n't  excite  yourself  so."  She  pressed  his  hand  firmly. 

Walpurga  was  sitting  in  her  room,  late  at  night,  when  the  queen 
came  to  her. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  've  come,"  said  Walpurga,  softly. 

"  Why  ?     Does  anything  ail  the  child  ?  " 

"  No  ;  thank  God,  he  's  quiet.  See  how  he  clenches  his  little 
fists  while  he  sleeps.  But,  on  this  night,  at  twelve,  a  Sunday  child 
sees  everything.  He  can  hear  all  that  the  angels  in  heaven  and 
the  beasts  in  the  wood  are  saying.  One  must  always  be  with  him 
at  that  time,  and  keep  on  saying  the  paternoster,  and  then  no 
harm  will  come  to  him." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  stay  with  you  ;  that  can  do  no  harm.  But  you  must 
not  torment  yourself  so  with  your  belief." 

Walpurga  looked  at  the  queen  with  a  strange  expression. 

"Ah,  she  knows  nothing  of  this,"  she  thought  to  herself.  "She 
was  n't  born  in  our  faith."  The  queen  said  :  "  I  'm  glad  that  I 
can  make  so  many  people  happy,  just  as  I  've  made  you  happy, 
to-day." 

"But  you  must  be  happy,  too,"  said  Walpurga.     "Take  my 
word  for  it — I  'd  put  my  hand  in  the  fire  as  a  pledge — there  's  noth 
ing  wrong  with  Irma.     She  's  true,  and  so  is  the  king." 

The  queen  started  convulsively.  And  had  it  come  to  this  pass  ? 
Must  she  receive  consolation  from  such  a  quarter?  She  sat  there 
motionless,  for  some  time.  The  clock  struck  twelve,  and.  at  the 
same  instant,  bells  were  heard  ringing  from  every  tower,  filling  the 
air  with  their  merry  sounds. 

The  child  in  the  cradle  began  to  mutter  in  its  sleep.  Walpurga 
made  a  sign  to  the  queen  and  went  on  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
in  a  firm  voice.  The  queen  moved  her  lips  and  silently  joined  in 
the  prayer.  When  it  was  repeated  for  the  third  time,  she  said 
aloud  :  "  •  And  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  them  that 
trespass  against  us.'  "  Then  she  knelt  down  by  the  child's  cradle, 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

Walpurga  was  filled  with  reverence  for  the  mother  who  thus 
knelt  silently  at  her  child's  cradle.  She  went  on  praying  in  a  low 
voice.  The  queen  arose,  nodded  to  Walpurga,  and  waved  both 
her  hands  to  her.  She  looked  almost  like  a  spirit  and,  without 
uttering  another  word,  she  left  the  room.  The  sound  of  the  bells 
died  on  the  air,  and  the  child  slept  on  quietly. 

CHAPTER     VII. 

STRANGE  things  were  always  happening  during  the  days  and 
nights  of  Christmas  week.  '  Some  mortals  maintain  that  the 
kingdom  of  the  fairies  has  vanished,  but  it  still  exists. 

In  a  large  building,  standing-  back  from  the  king's  street,  there 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  2 1 1 

are  silent  workmen,  placing  strange  wedges  side  by  side,  which 
wedges  are  afterward  handed  over  to  a  huge  monster.  It  is  still 
at  rest,  but  as  soon  as  it  receives  them,  it  suddenly  moves,  creaks, 
groans  and  puffs,  and,  in  an  instant,  hundreds  of  human  beings 
are,  as  it  were,  created  anew. — In  other  words,  it  is  the  govern- 
ment printing-office,  and  they  are  printing  the  official  gazette, 
which,  at  the  beginning  of  every  year,  announces  the  promotion 
and  the  orders  conferred  upon  hundreds  of  individuals. 

What  is  New  Year's  day  to  most  mortals?  Retrospection, 
reflections  that  life  is  but  transitory,  succeeded  by  joy  at  what  is 
still  left  us,  and  good  resolutions  for  the  future  ;  and  yet  to-morrow 
is  a  mere  repetition  of  yesterday. 

How  different  with  those  whose  importance  depends  upon  their 
station,  and  who  can  be  elevated  into  something  more  than  they 
now  are. 

The  official  gazette  appeared,  with  its  list  of  New  Year's  gifts. 
One  pleasure  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  queen.  Her  English  teacher,  an 
estimable  and  noble-hearted  old  man,  whom  she  had  brought  with 
her  as  her  private  secretary,  received  the  title  of  privy  councilor, 
and  was  thus,  in  a  social  sense,  rendered  capable  of  being  presented 
at  court. 

But  of  all  the  promotions,  none  excited  so  much  comment  at 
court  and  in  the  capital,  as  the  appointment  of  Baron  Schoning  to 
the  office  of  intendant-general  of  the  royal  theatre,  and  he,  him- 
self, was  more  surprised  than  all  others.  Although  he  had  been 
greatly  applauded  for  his  share  in  the  French  play,  in  which  Irma 
had  also  taken  part,  he  had  not  anticipated  such  a  result.  When  he 
read  the  announcement,  he  rubbed  his  eyes,  to  make  sure  of  being 
awake.  Was  it  a  bit  of  royal  pleasantry?  He  would  willingly 
submit  to  any  joke,  but  then  it  must  be  in  a  confined  circle,  not  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  But  it  was  not  a  joke,  it  was  the  simple 
truth,  for,  side  by  side  with  his  own,  he  could  read  of  the  appoint- 
ment and  the  promotion  of  many  distinguished  men  to  important 
positions. 

It  was  an  actual  fact — beautiful  reality. 

In  the  city  it  was  said,  with  a  significant  smile,  that  the  Baron 
had  received  the  appointment  in  order  to  place  him  in  the  proper 
position  to  marry  Countess  Irma.  Others,  who  were  less  kindly 
disposed,  asserted  that  it  was  freely  offered  to  the  gallant  court 
fool,  as  the  court  had  always  regarded  theatrical  matters  as  a 
sort  of  time-honored  buffoonery,  furnishing  amusement  of  a  light 
and  trivial  character. 

But  Baron  Schoning — or,  as  he  must  now  be  styled,  the  intend- 
ant — received  the  visits  of  his  subordinates  with  great  dignity  and 
then  drove  to  the  palace. 

On  the  way,  he  was  obliged  to  pass  Countess  Irma's  apartments. 
He  stopped  and  sent  in  his  card.  % 


212  C»Ar  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  Countess  received  him  kindly,  and  offered  him  her  sincere 
congratulations.  He  plainly  intimated  that  he,  in  a  great  measure, 
owed  his  promotion  to  her,  and  he  remarked  that  a  lady  of 
good  taste  and  true  artistic  feeling  could  be  his  greatest  aid  and 
support  in  his  new  calling.  She  affected  not  to  understand  him 
and  assented,  in  an  absent  manner.  Her  thoughts  were  wander- 
ing. She  would  often  look  out  of  the  window  that  opened  on  the 
park.  The  snow  had  almost  disappeared  and  the  marble  statues 
of  gods  and  goddesses  had  thrown  off  their  winter  covering.  Near- 
est her  window,  and  in  a  position  which  showed  its  profile,  stood 
the  Venus  de  Milo. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  she,  at  last,  as  if  collecting  her  thoughts, 
"  I  am  delighted  that  you  have  again  resumed  your  connection 
with  art,  and  would  be  very  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  you  on  the 
subject.  Above  all  things,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  let  us  have  music 
again  at  the  theatre ;  if  not  during  the  entr'actes,  before  the 
performance,  at  all  events. 

"The  musicians  are  all  opposed  to  such  a  course." 

"  I  know  that  very  well.  Each  art  endeavors  to  isolate  itself,  to 
remain  independent  of  all  others.  But  a  play  without  music  is 
like  a  feast  without  wine.  Music  cleanses  the  soul  from  the  dust 
and  dross  of  even-  day  life  and  seems  to  say  to  every  one:  'You 
are  no  longer  in  your  office,  in  the  barracks,  or  in  the  workshop.' 
If  it  could  be  done,  I  would  prescribe  a  special  costume  for  all  who 
frequent  the  theatre.  Their  uncovered  heads  should  be  a  token 
of  spiritual  reverence,  and,  besides  that,  I  would  have  theatrical 
performances  only  once  a  week." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right  as  regards  the  music,"  interposed  the 
intendant.  "  If  you  have  any  other  suggestion,  dear  Countess — " 

"  Some  other  time.  I  know  of  nothing  at  present.  Just  now, 
my  mind  is  full  of  the  bal  costume,  which  is  to  take  place  next 
week." 

The  ball  was  to  be  given  in  the  palace  and  the  adjoining  winter 
garden.  The  intendant  now  informed  Irma  of  his  plan,  and  was 
delighted  to  find  that  she  approved  of  it.  At  the  end  of  the  garden, 
he  intended  to  erect  a  large  fountain,  ornamented  with  antique 
groups.  In  the  foreground,  he  meant  to  have  trees  and  shrubbery 
and  various  kinds  of  rocks,  so  that  none  could  approach  too 
closely,  and  the  background  was  to  be  a  Grecian  landscape, 
painted  in  the  grand  style. 

Irma  promised  to  keep  his  secret.  Suddenly,  she  exclaimed : 
"We  are,  all  of  us,  no  better  than  lackeys  and  kitchen-maids. 
We  are  kept  busy,  stewing,  roasting  and  cooking  for  weeks,  in  or- 
der to  prepare  a  dish  that  may  please  their  majesties." 

The  intendant  made  no  reply. 

"Do  you  remember,"  continued  Irma,  "how,  when  we  were  at 
'he  lake,  we  spoke  of  the  fact  that  man  possessed  the  advantage 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  213 

of  being  able  to  change  his  dress,  and  thus  to  alter  his  appearance  ? 
While  yet  a  child,  masquerading  was  my  greatest  delight.  The 
soul  wings  its  flight  in  callow  infancy.  A  bal  costume  is,  indeed, 
one  of  the  noblest  fruits  of  culture.  The  love  of  coquetry  which 
is  innate  with  all  of  us,  there  displays  itself  undisguised." 

The  intendant  took  his  leave  ;  while  walking  away,  his  mind  was 
filled  with  his  old  thoughts  about  Irma. 

"No,"  said  he  to  himself,  "such  a  woman  would  be  a  constant 
strain,  and  would  require  one  to  be  brilliant  and  intellectual  all  day 
long.  She  would  exhaust  one,"  said  he,  almost  aloud. 

No  one  knew  what  character  Irma  intended  to  appear  in, 
although  many  supposed  that  it  would  be  as  Victoria,  since  it  was 
well  known  that  she  had  stood  for  the  model  of  the  statue  that 
surmounted  the  arsenal.  They  were  busy  conjecturing  how  she 
could  assume  that  character,  without  violating  the  social  proprieties. 

Irma  spent  much  of  her  time  in  the  atelier  and  worked  assidu- 
ously. She  was  unable  to  escape  a  feeling  of  unrest,  far  greater 
than  that  she  had  experienced  years  ago,  when  looking  forward  to 
her  first  ball.  She  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  the  idea  of  pre- 
paring for  the  fete,  so  long  beforehand,  and  would  like  to  have  had 
it  take  place  in  the  very  next  hour,  so  that  something  else  might, 
be  taken  up  at  once.  The  long  delay  tried  her  patience.  She 
almost  envied  those  beings  to  whom  the  preparation  for  pleasure 
affords  the  greatest  part  of  the  enjoyment.  Work  alone  calmed 
her  unrest.  She  had  something  to  do,  and  this  prevented  the 
thoughts  of  the  festival  from  engaging  her  mind  during  the  day. 
It  was  only  in  the  evenings  that  she  would  recompense  herself  for 
the  day's  work,  by  giving  full  swing  to  her  fancy. 

The  statue  of  Victory  was  still  in  the  atelier  and  was  almost 
finished.  High  ladders  were  placed  beside  it.  The  artist  was 
still  chiseling  at  the  figure  and  would,  now  and  then,  hurry  down 
to  observe  the  general  effect  and  then  hastily  mount  the  ladder 
again  in  order  to  add  a  touch  here  or  there.  Irma  scarcely  ven- 
tured to  look  up  at  this  effigy  of  herself  in  Grecian  costume — • 
transformed  and  yet  herself.  The  idea  of  being  thus  translated 
into  the  purest  of  art's  forms  filled  her  with  a  tremor — half  joy, 
half  fear. 

It  was  on  a  winter  afternoon.  Irma  was  working  assiduously  at 
a  copy  of  a  bust  of  Theseus,  for  it  was  growing  dark. 

Near  her,  stood  her  preceptor's  marble  bust  of  Doctor  Gunther. 
All  was  silent;  not  a  sound  was  heard  save,  now  and  then,  the 
picking  or  scratching  of  the  chisel.  At  that  moment,  the  master 
descended  the  ladder  and,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  said  : 

"  There — that  will  do.  One  can  never  finish.  I  shall  not  put 
another  stroke  to  it.  I  am  afraid  that  retouching  would  only 
injure  it.  It  is  done." 

In  the  master's  words  and  manner,  struggling  effort  and  calir 


aY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

content  seem  mingled.  He  laid  the  chisel  aside.  Irma  looked  .at 
him  earnestly  and  said  : 

"  You  are  a  happy  man  ;  but  I  can  imagine  that  you  are  still 
unsatisfied.  I  do  n't  believe  that  even  Raphael  or  Michael  Angeio 
were  ever  satisfied  with  the  work  they  had  completed.  The  rem- 
nant of  dissatisfaction  which  an  artist  feels  at  the  completion  of  a 
work,  is  the  germ  of  a  new  creation." 

The  master  nodded  his  approval  of  her  words.  His  e\res 
expressed  his  thanks.  He  went  to  the  hydrant  and  washed  his 
hands.  Then  he  placed  himself  near  Irma  and  looked  at  her, 
while  telling  her  that,  in  every  work,  an  artist  parts  with  a 
portion  of^his  life;  that  the  figure  will  never  again  inspire  the 
same  ftelihgsMhat  it  did  while  in  the  workshop.  Viewed  from 
afar,  and  serving  as  an  ornament,  no  regard  would  be  had  to  the 
care  bestowed  upon  details.  But  the  artist's  great  satisfaction 
in  his  work  is  in  having  pleased  himself;  and  yet  no  one  can 
accurately  determine  how,  or  to  what  extent,  a  conscientious 
working  up  of  details  will  influence  the  general  effect. 

While  the  master  was  speaking,  the  king  was  announced.  Irma 
hurriedly  spread  a  damp  cloth  over  her  clay  model. 

The  king  entered.  He  was  unattended,  and  begged  Irma  not 
to  allow  herself  to  be  disturbed  in  her  work.  Without  looking  up, 
she  went  on  with  her  modeling.  The  king  was  earnest  in  his 
praise  of  the  master's  work. 

"  The  grandeur  that  dwells  in  this  figure  will  show  posterity 
what  our  days  have  beheld.  I  am  proud  of  such  contemporaries." 

Irma  felt  that  the  words  applied  to  her  as  well.  Her  heart 
throbbed.  The  plaster  of  Paris  which  stood  before  her  suddenly 
seemed  to  gaze  at  her  with  a  strange  expression. 

"  I  should  like  to  compare  the  finished  work  with  the  first 
models,"  said  the  king  to  the  artist. 

"  I  regret  that  the  experimental  models  are  in  my  small  atelier. 
Does  Your  Majesty  wish  me  to  have  them  brought  here  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  good  enough  to  do  so." 

The  master  left.  The  king  and  Irma  were  alone.  With  rapid 
steps,  he  mounted  the  ladder  and  exclaimed,  in  a  tremulous  voice  : 

"  I  ascend  into  heaven — I  ascend  to  you.  Irma,  I  kiss  you,  I 
kiss  your  image,  and  may  this  kiss  forever  rest  upon  those  lips, 
enduring  beyond  all  time.  I  kiss  thee,  with  the  kiss  of  eternity." 
He  stood  aloft  and  kissed  the  lips  of  Jthe  statue.  Irma  could  not 
help  looking  up,  and,  just  at  that  moment,  a  slanting  sunbeam  fell 
on  the  king  and  on  the  face  of  the  marble  figure,  making  it  glow 
as  if  with  life. 

Irma  felt  as  if  wrapped  in  a  fiery  cloud,  bearing  her  away  into 
eternity. 

The  king  descended  and  placed  himself  beside  her.  His  breath- 
ing was  short  and  quick — she  did  not  dare  to  look  up — she  stood  as 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  215 

silent  and  as  immovable  as  the  statue.     Then  the  king  embraced 
nei  —she  lay  in  his  arms  and  living  lips  kissed  each  ether. 

When  the  artist  returned,  the  king  was  alone.  Inna  crossed  the 
street,  on  her  way  to  the  palace,  as  if  dreaming.  She  felt  hersdf 
borne  on  wings,  and  likened  herself  to  Semele  whom  the  ardent 
kisses  of  Jupiter  had  made  immortal. 

"The  greatest  happiness  has  been  mine,"  said  she  to  herself. 
"  I  can  easily  give^up  all  else,  for  the  kiss  of  eternity  rests  upon  my 
lips." 

The  people  and  the  houses  seemed  like  so  many  shadowy  forms, 
and.  she  felt  as  if  flying  through  the  air  above  them. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  gained  her  apartment  and  beheld  her 
costume,  that  she  was  reminded  of  the  ball  that  was  to  take  place 
that  very  night.  Her  lips  were  wreathed  in  smiles,  while  her  maid 
attired  her  in  the  full,  cloud-like,  white  robe,  trimmed  with  rushes 
set  with  diamonds. 

"My  lady  promised  the  crown  prince's  nurse,"  said  the  maid, 
"  that  she  should  see  her  in  her  ball-dress.  Shall  I  send  for  her 
now?" 

Irma  nodded  assent.  All  that  she  heard  seemed  as  if  in  a 
dream  ;  all  that  she  saw,  as  if  in  a  cloud.  She  felt  it  a  torture  to 
be  obliged  to  display  herself  to  so  many  people.  She  wished  to 
appear  to  him  only.  To  him  who  was  all  .the  world  to  her. 

Walpurga  came,  and  gazed  upon  her  like  one  entranced.  There 
stood  a  maiden,  so  beautiful,  so  charming,  so  brilliantly  and  won- 
derfully encircled  with  reeds,  and  with  diamond  drops  hanging 
from  those  reeds  and  from  red  coral  branches.  The  girdle  was  a 
green  serpent,  with  large  glittering  diamond  eyes  that  sparkled  so 
that  it  dazzled  one's  eyes  to  look  at  them.  Her  long  hair  was 
loosened,  and  fell  down  over  her  bare  neck.  It  was  held  together  at 
the  top  by  a  wreath  of  water-lilies  glittering  with  dew  drops,  and  on 
her  brow  was  a  star  which  flashed  and  sparkled,  while  the  face  of 
the  beautiful  maiden  was  more  radiant  than  all  her  jewels.  Irma 
had  never  before  looked  so  beautiful.  She  seemed  so  noble,  so  far 
away,  as  if  smiling,  from  the  clouds  above,  upon  mortals  below. 

"  Dear  me  !  Why,  you  're  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  exclaimed 
Walpurga. 

"Ah  !  So  you  recognize  me,"  said  Irma,  holding  out  her  hand. 
Her  voice  sounded  strangely. 

Walpurga  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart.  She  felt  grieved  that 
Irma  should  assume  this  character.  It  was  defying  God,  and 
would  end  in  evil.  But  Walpurga  said  nothing  ;  she  merely  folded 
her  hands  and  moved  her  lips  in  silent  prayer  for  Irma. 

"Dear  me  !  "  she  exclaimed,  after  passing  her  hand  across  her 

eyes,  "dear  me,  how  the  people  can  fix  themselves  up.     Where 

do  they  get  everything  from  ?     How  is  it  possible  ?  "     She  walked 

ound  and  round  Irma.     "  When  I  tell  'em  at  home,  they  '11  never 


216  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

believe  I  Ve  seen  anything  like  this.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  wears 
an  undergarment  of  sea  foam  and  loose  hair  just  like  this.  If  only 
mother  and  Hansei  were  here." 

Irma  made  no  reply.  She  walked  about  the  room,  and  when  she 
saw  herself  reflected  in  the  great  mirrors  her  own  figure  seemed 
like  a  strange  apparition,  and  the  rustling  of  the  reeds  bewildered 
her. 

"  I  would  like  to  jump  into  the  lake,  just  as  I  am,  and  quench  the 
burning  flames,"  thought  she  to  herself. 

Walpurga  seemed  dazzled  by  so  much  splendor  and  returned  to 
her  apartments. 

"  I  can  easily  imagine,"  she  said  to  herself,  "that  the  people  here 
do  n't  understand  the  world,  and  that  the  queen  herself  does  n't 
understand  it,  either.  They  make  a  new  world  every  day,  and  turn 
everything  upside  down  and  inside  out,  and  disguise  and  mask 
themselves.  How  are  they  ever  to  get  rest  and  keep  their  senses  ? 
The  queen  's  right ;  it 's  better  that  I  should  go  home  again.  I  'd 
go  crazy  here." 

When  Walpurga  reached  her  room,  she  found  a  letter  from  home 
awaiting  her.  She  had  been  joyfully  looking  forward  to  this  letter 
for  weeks.  She  had  fancied  how  delighted  her  mother  and  Hansei 
would  be,  and  how  the  villagers  would  come  and  admire  their  new 
clothes,  and  express  their  astonishment.  She  had  placed  a  cheer- 
ful letter  in  the  breast-pocket  of  Hansel's  jacket,  and  this  was  the 
answer.  Stasi  had  written  it,  but  the  mother  had  dictated  ever)' 
word.  It  read  thus : 

"  Oh,  child,  I  'm  sure  you  meant  well  enough,  but  it  did  n't  turn 
out  well.  I  and  Hansei  wore  the  beautiful  clothes  when  we  went 
to  church  on  New  Year's  day.  I  did  n't  want  to  ;  I  felt  sure  some- 
thing would  happen  ;  but  Hansei  said  we  must  put  them  on  for  the 
king  would  think  ill  of  it,  if  we  did  n't  wear  the  clothes  he  sent  us, 
and  so,  for  peace's  sake,  I  went  to  church  with  him.  But  the  peo- 
ple kept  looking  at  us  so  strangely,  and  did  n't  say  a  word ;  and 
after  church,  they  were  standing  together  in  crowds  and  we  could 
hear  them  say,  while  they  pointed  their  fingers  at  us :  '  It 's  all 
very  fine.  Such  things  can  be  got  at  the  capital,  but  even-  one 
knows  how ;  not  in  an  honest  way,  that 's  certain.  The  old  fool 
and  that  blockhead  there  are  proud  of  it  in  the  bargain,  and  show 
off  their  new  clothes.'  Old  Zenza  was  worse  than  any  of  them, 
and  people  who  never  listened  to  her  at  other  times,  were  quite  wil- 
ling to  hear  all  she  had  to  say,  and  urged  her  to  go  on. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child  !  you  do  n't  know  how  bad  people  can  be. 
I  know  that  you  're  good,'  but  some  people  are  bad  and  begrudge 
one  everything,  and  what  they  can't  take  from  you  they  befoul. 
You  meant  well  enough,  I  'm  s'ure,  but  I  won't  even  venture  out  of 
the  house  in  my  own  clothes  now.  The  people  are  so  envious,  so 
cunning  and  so  willing  to  speak  evil.  As  long  as  you  're  poor  you 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  217 

know  nothing  of  it,  but  now  I  see  it.  And  dear  child,  that 's  not 
the  worst  of  it.  The  worst  of  all  is  that  they  want  to  fill  one's 
heart  with  mistrust,  but  I  have  none  towards  you  ;  I  know  you  're 
good.  Remain  so,  and  bear  in  mind,  that  if  your  heart  is  troubled 
you  can't  find  rest,  though  you  sleep  in  a  golden  bed  and  on  pil- 
lows of  silk.  It  were  far  better  to  lie  on  thorns  or  in  the  grave. 
The  innkeeper  came  and  offered  to  buy  the  clothes  for  himself  and 
his  wife,  but  I  won't  let  him  have  them.  And  now,  dear  child,  keep 
honest,  and  do  n't  touch  a  thread  or  a  penny  to  which  any  evil 
clings.  I  know  you  would  n't  do  it,  but  I  can't  help  telling  you  ; 
and  don't  take  it  so  much  to  heart  that  people  are  so  bad,  and  I 
shan't  either." 

Walpurga  cried  bitterly  while  she  read  the  letter.  "The  peas- 
ants are  the  worst  people  in  the  world,"  thought  she.  "  Of  course, 
there  are  bad  people  among  the  court  folk,  but  they  're  not  that 
bad.  Just  let  one  of  'em  come  again  and  ask  for  pardon.  I  '11 
send  them  home  again."  She  felt  like  asking  the  king  to  have  a 
sound  thrashing  administered  to  every  one  of  the  villagers.  She 
only  wished  that  the  king's  power  could  be  hers  for  one  short  hour, 
so  that  she  might  show  these  silly,  infamous  people  who  really  was 
their  master. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

WALPURGA  was  sitting  in  her  room,  weeping  with  anger. 
Now  and  then  she  would  clench  her  fists  and  speak  her  mind 
to  the  folks  at  home,  in  such  a  manner  that  they  would  have  trem- 
bled with  fear,  if  they  could  only  have  heard  her.  But  she  soon 
regained  her  self-control  and  repressed  all  emotion,  lest  the  ex- 
citement occasioned  by  the  wicked  folk  at  home  should  injuriously 
affect  the  child. 

Meanwhile,  there  were  sounds  of  music  far  away  in  the  brightly 
illuminated  and  elegant  apartments  of  the  palace,  and  also  in  the 
winter  garden.  There  were  thousands  of  lights,  a  perfect  sea  of 
velvets  and  silks,  pearls  and  diamonds,  flowers  and  wreaths,  and 
smiling,  joyous  faces ;  but  the  king  outshone  them  all. 

He  knew  that  he  was  handsome,  and  took  an  almost  childlike 
delight  in  the  fact.  He  was  always  in  a  good  humor  when  attired 
'n  becoming  uniform.  At  the  great  fetes  which  were  given  on  the 
rarious  regimental  anniversaries,  he  always  wore  the  unifoim  of  the 
regiment  thus  honored.  He  was  best  pleased  with  himself,  when 
in  the  dress  of  the  hussars,  for  that  displayed  his  fine  figure  tc 
great  advantage.  On  this  occasion,  he  appeared  in  the  fantastic 
costume  of  the  mythic  king  Artus,  in  a  golden  coat  of  mail  and 
flowing  purple  mantle.  At  his  side,  was  the  queen,  refined  and 
delicate  as  a  lily,  and  wearing  a  light,  flowing  white  veil. 

The  king  observed  the  pleased  expression  of  all  who  beheld  him. 
10 


218  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  was  happy,  for  he  knew  that  their  admiration  was  not  flattery, 
When  Irma  first  saw  him  and  made  her  obeisance  to  the  royal 
ceuph,  't  required  all  her  self-command,  to  refrain  from  sinking  on 
her  k  -<=cs  at  his  feet.  Then  she  looked  up  into  his  face,  with  a 
happy,  beseeching  air. 

She  could  scarce  refrain  from' expressing  her  admiration  and  de- 
votion. , 

The  queen  greeted  her  cordially,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry,  Irma,  that  you  can't  see  yourself ;  you  're  enough 
to  make  one  believe  in  miracles." 

The  king  said  nothing,  but  Irma  felt  his  glance  resting  upon  her. 
She  could  not  conceive  how  it  was  that  his  glances  and  the 
queen's  words  did  not  destroy  her.  With  an  effort  to  regain  her 
composure,  she  said  : 

"  Ah,  Your  Majesty,  I  find  my  costume  oppressive.  A  spirit 
should  stay  but  a  minute  and  then  vanish  in  a  burst  of  flame." 

"There  is  a  minute  which  is  as  eternity." 

Irma  had,  indeed,  felt  a  conscious  pride  in  her  beautiful  appear- 
ance, but  now  she  experienced  a  higher  joy.  He  who  was  so  tall 
and  handsome,  a  knight  more  perfect  than  fancy  could  devise, 
could  give  the  kiss  of  eternity ;  for  he  alone,  was  the  highest  em- 
bodiment of  the  idea  of  royalty. 

Irma  scarcely  noticed  what  was  going  on  about  her. 

The  royal  couple  passed  on,  and  Irma,  in  spite  of  her  splendid 
attire,  felt  as  if  deserted  and  forlorn.  The  king  was  no  longer 
near  her.  In  the  distance  she  could  still  see  him,  radiant  as  a  god. 

Those  who  were  near  Irma,  praised  her  ingenious  and  poetical 
costume.  She  did  not  hear  a  word  of  what  was  said.  The  queen 
sent  for  her.  The  king  had  wished  the  queen  to  open  the  ball 
with  him,  but  she  had  declined.  He  always  asked  her,  as  a  matter 
of  form,  but  she  never  danced. 

She  now  begged  Irma  to  open  the  ball  in  her  stead. 

Irma  bowed  her  thanks,  but  a  proud  feeling  of  superiority  filled 
her  breast.  "  You  have  nothing  to  give  me.  It  is  I  who  am  giving. 
It  is  I  who  am  renouncing.  He  is  mine.  The  priest  gave  him  to 
you  ;  nature  has  given  him  to  me.  You  are  a  tender,  delicate 
flower,  but  we  are  eagles,  who  soar  into  the  clouds." 

She  could  hardly  conceive  how  she  could  bear  it  all.  Every 
drop  of  blood  in  her  veins  had  turned  to  fire. 

The  quadrille  began. 

Irma  felt  the  king's  warm  breath  against  her  cheek.  He  pressed 
her  hand,  indulged  in  various  pleasantries,  and  remarked  that  it  was 
charming  to  be  able  to  indulge  one's  fancy  in  conjuring  up  a  fan- 
tastic world.  Irma  felt  that  both  she  and  the  king  would  have 
.iked  to  speak  of  far  different  things,  and  that,  indeed,  silence  was 
even  more  eloquent  than  speech  ;  but  they  were  obliged  to  talk, 
and  of  indifferent  subjects  at  that.  Whenever  the  king's  hand 


ON  THE  JttTGffTS.  219 

touched  hers,  she  felt  as  if  she  must  suddenly  fly  aloft  with  him  ; 
and,  whenever  he  removed  it,  as  if  she  most  sink.  They  came 
near  throwing  the  whole  quadrille  into  confusion. 

The  queen  left  the  ball  at  an  early  hour.  The  king  accompanied 
her,  but  soon  returned. 

Irma  went  about  the  room,  but  the  gay  scene  seemed  like  a 
confused  dream.  At  last  she  met  her  brother  and  his  wife,  who 
were  richly  attired,  and  greeted  them  with  a  pleasant  smile.  She 
was  for  ever  asking  herself:  "Do  I  still  live?  where  am  I  ?  who 
am  I  ?  "  She  had  descended  through  the  air,  and  was  floating  in  a 
strange  world,  in  which  there  were  only  two  human  beings — he 
and  she ;  the  first,  the  only  human  pair.  The  gods  have  again 
descended  upon  earth,  and  his  kiss  is  eternity. 

She  sat  with  her  brother  and  his  wife,  in  a  bower  under  a  pine 
tree.  Presently,  the  king  approached.  In  her  heart,  she  rushed 
forth  to  embrace  him,  exclaiming:  "Let  us  die  together!  Thou 
art  mine  and  I  am  thine.  We  are  alone  in  the  world — "  But 
all  she  did  was  to  rise  from  her  seat,  and  bow  tremblingly.  The 
king  sat  down  beside  her. 

As  if  this  were  the  first  time  he  had  beheld  her,  he  gazed  with 
delight  upon  her  beautifully  shaped  head,  the  curls  playing  about 
her  throat  and  descending  to  her  shoulders,  and  the  dimpled  neck. 
She  seemed  taller  than  usual.  The  delicate,  oval  face  ;  the  broad 
forehead  richly  arched  as  if  with  too  great  a  wealth  of  thought ; 
the  finely  curved  eyebrows ;  the  brown  eyes  with  their  limpid 
brilliancy,  and  the  swelling  lips ;  all  were  in  beautiful  and  harmo- 
nious proportion. 

"You  are  beautiful,  and  I  love  you,"  whispered  the  king. 

'•  And  you  are  beautiful  and  great,  and  my  love  for  you  is  with- 
out limit,"  answered  her  heart,  although  her  lips  did  not  utter  a 
sound.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  suffered  his  glance  to  rest  upon 
her. 

"Irma!"  said  the  king.  "Irma,"  he  repeated,  with  a  choking 
voice. 

They  sat  there  in  silence  for  some  time,  and  then,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  the  king  said  : 

"  Oh,  Irma  !  There  is  one  moment  which  is  as  eternity — there 
parting  is  unknown.  In  the  world  below,  men  reckon  by  hours 
and  minutes,  but  to  those  who  dwell  in  the  heaven  above,  the 
earth  is  no  longer  visible." 

Irma  looked  up.  Bruno  and  his  wife  had  gone.  She  was  alo  x 
with  the  king. 

She  longed  to  fall  on  her  knees  before  him,  to  clasp  him  in  her 
ardent  embrace.  With  powerful  effort,  she  forced  herself  to  re- 
member her  surroundings.  The  music,  the  lights,  the  gay  figures : 
all  was  a  confused  jumble.  She  opened  her  lips  but  could  not 
utter  a  word.  She  arose  quickly  and  with  trembling  step,  left  the 
room. 


220  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king-  left  the  ball  soon  after. 

It  was  late  at  night.  \Yalpurga,  her  heart  filled  with  sadness, 
stood  looking  out  of  the  window  of  the  room  over  Irma's  apart- 
ments. 

Light  clouds  were  passing  over  the  sky,  now  covering  the  moon, 
and  then  again  revealing  it  in  all  its  splendor.  The  light  fell  full 
on  the  figure  of  the  Venus  de  Milo,  and  she  seemed  to  turn  her 
face. 

Walpurga  bounded  away  from  the  window,  and  was  so  fright- 
ened that  she  did  not  venture  again  to  return  to  the  open  casement. 

The  same  ray  of  moonlight  that  shone  upon  the  Venus  de  Milo, 
rested  tremblingly  on  the  lips  of  the  statue  which  the  king  had 
kissed.  .  .  .  The  gods  were  astir  that  moonlight  night.  .  .  . 

CHAPTER  IX. 

WHEN  the  small  circle  composed  of  the  select  of  the  court 
were  at  tea,  the  intendant  announced  it  as  his  intention  to 
celebrate  the  birthdays  of  those  great  minds  who  had  contributed 
to  the  elevation  of  the  drama,  and  said  that  he  meant  to  begin  with 
the  approaching  anniversary  of  Lessing's  birth. 

"  What  play  will  you  give  us?"  enquired  the  queen. 

"  I  should  feel  highly  honored  if  Your  Majesty  would  decide 
which  it  shall  be." 

"  I  ?  "  asked  the  queen,  looking  towards  the  king,  who  was  sitting 
opposite  to  her.  Although  apparently  engaged  with  an  illustrated 
newspaper,  he  must  have  felt  that  the  queen's  eye  was  upon  him, 
for  he  looked  up  and  said  : 

"  Yes,  please  yourself." 

"Then  I  should  like  '  Emilia  Galotti.'  " 

All  looked  up,  for  this  work,  as  well  as  Schiller's  "  Love  and 
Intrigue  "  had,  during  the  last  reign,  been  placed  on  the  list  of  for- 
bidden plays. 

A  pause  ensued.  It  was  the  king's  turn  to  speak,  and  what 
would  he  say  ? 

He  remained  silent.  A  moment  later,  he  showed  Schnabelsdorf, 
who  was  sitting  near  him,  a  portrait  of  a  foreign  scholar  who  had 
recently  died,  and  asked  whether  it  was  a  good  likeness. 

Schnabelsdorf  replied  affirmatively. 

The  king's  voice  seemed  so  harsh  and  strange  that  the  queen 
felt  greatly  alarmed. 

At  that  moment,  Baum  was  about  to  hand  a  cup  to  the  queen. 
She  turned  quickly,  with  a  frightened  look,  just  as  if  a  cat  had 
sprung  upon  her  shoulders,  and,  while  turning,  struck  against  the 
proffered  cup,  which  fell  to  the  floor.  If  a  bomb  had  suddenly 
burst,  it  could  not  have  produced  greater  consternation.  Baum 
picked  up  the  fragments,  and  felt  so  terribly  unhappy,  that  he 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  221 

• 

would  gladly  have  prostrated  himself;  but  it  would  not  do  for  him 
to  speak  or  even  ask  pardon,  for  that  would  have  been  a  still  more 
heinous  breach  of  discipline.  The  queen  turned  towards  him  and 
said : 

"  It  was  my  fault,  not  yours." 

She  requested  the  ladies  who  had  hurriedly  left  their  seats,  in 
order  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  and  rectify  the  damage  that  had  been 
clone,  to  be  seated  again.  The  lord  steward  beckoned  Bauni  to 
approach,  and  whispered  him  to  withdraw  and  leave  the  rest  to  the 
other  servants. 

It  required  all  the  queen's  power  of  self-command  to  preserve 
the  appearance  of  unconcern  which  etiquette  demanded.  Although 
her  brain  whirled  with  contending  emotions,  she  sat  erect  and 
smiling,  while  her  eyes  followed  the  servant  who  was  carrying 
away  the  broken  fragments,  just  as  if  he  were  bearing  with  him 
something  else  which  had  been  shattered  forever. 

Baum  went  out  to  the  landing,  and  stood  by  the  stair-rail.  He 
felt  as  if  stunned,  and  was  so  ashamed  of  himself  that  he  would 
gladly  have  hurled  himself  down  to  the  floor  below.  Such  a  thing 
had  never  happened  to  him  before.  It  would  disgrace  him  for  life, 
and,  although  the  queen  had  taken  the  blame  upon  herself,  he 
would  have  to  suffer  for  it  all  the  same.  He  looked  at  the  frag- 
ments of  the  cup,  and  only  wished  that  he,  too,  had  been  dashed 
into  pieces. 

Order  was  speedily  restored.  Schnabelsdorf,  who,  in  the  new 
ministry,  held  the  position  of  foreign  secretary  and  temporarily 
conducted  the  department  of  education,  proved  himself  a  friend  in 
need.  With  consummate  tact,  he  succeeded  in  engaging  the  com- 
pany with  subjects  that  interested  them,  and  thus  restored  their 
good  humor.  Taking  the  play  of  Emilia  Galotti,  as  an  instance, 
he  said  that  the  names  which  poets  had  assigned  to  their  dramatis 
persona  would  furnish  the  subject  of  interesting  investigations,  or 
rather  hypotheses.  It  was  his  opinion  that  in  naming  his  intriguant 
Marinelli,  Lessing  had  intended  an  allusion  to  Machiavelli,  to 
whose  character  the  last  century  had  not  been  able  to  do  justice. 
The  vowels  were  the  same  in  both  names  ;  and  the  name  of  Orsina 
reminded  one  of  a  dagger  leaping  from  its  sheath.  The  full  round 
O  followed  by  the  sharp  I.  He  continued  in  this  vein,  and  afforded 
much  interesting  information  in  regard  to  the  names  of  poetic 
characters.  Lessing  had  acted  wisely,  substituting  for  the  name  of 
Melchisedek — Boccaccio's  Jew — that  of  Nathan,  for  the  very  name 
reminds  one  of  an  all-embracing  garment.  How  appropriate  are 
the  names  which  Goethe  has  given  his  female  characters — 
Gretchen,  Clarchen,  Dorothea,  Natalie.  Even  Schiller  had  fre- 
quently been  happy  in  his  choice  of  names,  as,  for  instance,  Franz 
Mohr— Posa — hew  sonorous  are  the  O  and  the  A. 

Schnabelsdorf 's   conversation   was  both   fluent   and    pleasing 


222  CLY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Ho\v  fortunate  it  is  to  be  so  we'l  informed,  and  to  be  ahlo  to  impart 
one's  knowledge  to  others,  without  troubling  one's  self  i.bout 
nioocis,  broken  cups,  or  ill-humored  people  looking  at  illustrated 
papers. 

As  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  assist  Schnabelsdorf.  he  was 
obliged  to  monopolize  the  conversation.  At  last  Irma  took  pity 
on  him  and  carelessly  remarked  how  strange  it  was,  that  no  proper 
names  were  invented  in  our  day,  and  that  all  we  could  do  was  to 
borrow,  combine,  or  abbreviate  those  which  already  existed. 

This  suggested  various  unsuccessful,  but  mirth-provoking,  at- 
tempts to  invent  new  names. 

The  intendant  told  them  of  a  peasant  whom  he  knew  and  who 
had  named  the  first  of  his  daughters  Prima,  the  second  Secunda, 
the  third  Tertia,  and  so  on. 

The  king  scarcely  ever  looked  up  from  the  illustrated  papers  that 
lay  before  him,  but  the  queen  was  affable  and  kindly  towards  all 
who  took  part  in  the  conversation.  She  felt  grateful  to  even-  one 
who  spoke,  for  something  nad  happened  to  her  which  she  had 
really  not  desired.  She  was,  even  nowr,  as  ignorant  of  the  false 
construction  which  might  be  put  upon  her  motive  in  selecting 
Emilia  Galotti,  as  she  was  of  having  intended  to  break  the  cup. 
It  was  evident  that  the  king's  mind  was  agitated,  for  he  frequently 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brows  as  if  to  smooth  them,  and  it  was 
his  wont  to  indulge  in  this  movement  whenever  he  felt  it  necessary 
to  repress  his  excitement.  His  first  thought  had  been  :  Is  she 
really  ignorant  that  the  play  has,  for  many  years,  been  a  forbidden 
one?  Perhaps  she  is,  for  those  who  measure  life  by  their  own 
feelings  have  no  sense  for  historic  data.  But  suddenly  a  thought 
occurred  to  him — and  he  again  stroked  his  eyebrows — it  is  an  in- 
trigue, and  she  is  capable  of  it.  She  means  to  lay  a  trap  a  la 
Hamlet,  in  order  to  see  what  effect  the  play  will  have  upon  us. 
But  no,  thought  he  to  himself,  in  that  case,  she  would  be  obliged 
to  surprise  us,  and  that 's  not  her  way.  But  anger  and  violence 
and  a  rebuking  conscience  struggled  within  him.  His  persistent 
devotion  to  the  illustrated  journals  made  it  seem  as  if,  while  in  the 
midst  of  the  company,  he  had  withdrawn  into  a  private  box.  The 
king  had  never  before,  while  in  his  private  circle,  read  so  uninter- 
ruptedly. It  had  been  his  wont  to  look  now  at  this,  and  now  at 
another  picture,  and  to  har.d  it  to  others  for  notice  or  comparison. 
But,  on  this  evening,  he  read  and  yet  knew  not  what  he  read.  He 
would  gladly  have  caught  Irma's  eye,  and  felt  happy  when  he 
neard  her  expressing  herself  so  unconstrainedly.  He  admired  her, 
and  would  gladly  have  looked  round  to  her,  but  dared  not  even 
smile  approval  of  her  words.  He  had  left  Schnabelsdorfs  re- 
marks unanswered,  and  must,  therefore,  seem  not  to  have  heard 
Irma's. 

The  queen  arose.     All  stood  up  with  a  sense  of  relief,  for  everv 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  223 

one  had  felt  oppressed,  although  the  evening  had  proven  a  cheer- 
ful one.  Before  withdrawing,  the  queen  made  Schnabelsdorf 
happy  by  telling  him  how  grateful  they  ought  to  feel  towards  him, 
since  he  was  always  able  to  introduce  such  charming  subjects  of 
conversation.  Then,  addressing  the  intendant,  she  said  in  a  voice 
louder  than  was  her  wont : 

"If  it  is  any  trouble  to  study  Emilia  Galotti — " 

"  Oh,  no,  Your  Majesty." 

"  I  mean  if  the  time  's  too  short." 

"There  's  ample  time,"  replied  the  intendant.  He  had  already 
determined  how  he  would  cast  the  play  and  intended  to  try  the 
novel  experiment  of  using  the  costume  of  the  last  century. 

"I  think,"  said  the  queen,  while  her  voice  assumed  an  expres- 
sion which  was  foreign  to  it,  "  that  you  might  give  us  '  Nathan  the 
Wise'  or  'Minna  von  Barnhelm,'  if  you  think  they  can  be  pro- 
duced more  effectively." 

"  Let  it  be  as  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  king,  suddenly.  "  Let  Emilia 
Galotti  be  the  play,  and  have  the  bills  read  :  '  By  royal  command.'  " 

The  king  offered  his  arm  to  the  queen  and,  accompanied  by  her, 
withdrew.  The  rest  of  the  company  bowed  low  and  soon  after- 
wards separated  for  the  night.  Those  who  lived  without  the 
palace  got  into  their  carriages  ;  the  rest  retired  to  their  apartments, 
and,  although  indifferent  and  unimportant  topics  had  but  recently 
engaged  them,  every  one  was  busied  with  his  own  thoughts  on  one 
and  the  same  subject. 

Irma  dismissed  her  maid  as  soon  as  possible  ;  then,  taking  up 
a  dust-covered  volume  of  Lessing,  she  opened  and  closed  the  book 
several  times  in  order  to  shake  off  the  dust  and,  at  one  sitting,  read 
the  whole  of  Emilia  Galotti. 

She  did  not  fall  asleep  until  near  morning,  and,  when  she  awoke, 
hardly  knew  where  she  was.  The  open  book  still  lay  before  her ; 
the  lights  had  gone  out  of  themselves,  for  she  had  forgotten  to  put 
them  out,  and  the  air  in  her  apartment  was  close  and  almost  stifling. 

At  about  the  same  time  that  Irma  awoke,  bitter  tears  were  being 
shed  in  the  theatre.  The  intendant  had  assigned  Emilia  Galotti 
to  a  new  cast,  had  taken  the  role  of  Emilia  from  the  leading 
actress,  who  had  looked  upon  the  part  as  hers  in  perpetuity,  and 
had  given  it  to  a  more  youthful  performer.  The  role  of  Claudia 
had  been  assigned  to  the  elder  actress,  who  sat  weeping  behind  a 
side  scene,  exclaiming :  "  Pearls  mean  tears,  but  tears  do  not  mean 
pearls."  The  intendant,  although  generally  kind  and  amiable,  was 
unrelenting. 

But  Baum  was  far  more  unhappy  than  the  dissatisfied  actress. 
For  she  was  still  permitted  to  take  part  in  the  performance,  while 
he,  on  account  of  the  mishap  with  the  cup,  was  no  longer  allowed 
to  remain  near  their  majesties.  He  deplored  his  misfortune  to  Wal- 
purga,  ?.nd  she  begged  the  queen  that  Baum  might  again  be  re- 


224  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

stored  to  favor.  On  the  second  evening,  the  queen  enquired  if  the 
lackey  Baum  was  ill.  He  was  saved.  Full  of  gratitude,  he  went 
to  Walpurga  and  said  : 

"  I  '11  never  forget  you  for  this:  you  've  served  me  for  life." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  've  been  able,  for  once,  to  do  you  a  favor." 

"I  '11  repay  you  some  time  or  other,  depend  upon  it." 

Baum  hurriedly  withdrew,  for  Irma  entered  the  room.  The 
king  came  in  socn  afterward.  He  was  about  to  speak  French  with 
Irma,  but  she  begged  him  not  to  do  so,  saying: 

"  Simplicity  is  very  susceptible." 

"And  so-called  good-nature,"  replied  the  king,  "is  often  full  of 
malice  :».nd  intrigue.  Weakness  all  at  once  fancies  itself  obliged  to 
be  very  strong." 

"  We  must  be  gentle  for  all  that,"  replied  Irma.  Although  they 
had  spoken  German  before  Walpurga,  she  had  not  understood  a 
word  of  what  they  said. 

"I  admire  the  power  of  my  spy,"  said  the  king,  "and  confess 
that  I  bow  to  her,  in  all  humility.  I  would  never  have  believed  such 
greatness  possible." 

Irma  nodded  gently,  and  replied:  "The  hero  is  Hettore  Gon- 
zaga,  but  the  true  Emilia  Galotti  loves  him  with  a  power  which  is 
worthy  of  him." 

"  And  the  true  Hettore  is  neither  dilettante  nor  weakling,  and 
needs  no  Marinelli." 

The  relation  born  of  shame  and  passion,  received  added  strength 
through  the  cunning  and  intriguing  opposition  of  the  queen,  for  the 
choice  of  the  proscribed  play  was  regarded  as  part  of  a  well- 
considered  plan.  It  was  like  a  breath  of  wind,  which,  instead  of 
extinguishing  the  flame,  fans  it.  Deep  within  their  hearts,  lurked 
the  self-extenuating  plea  that  the  queen  was  not  the  pure  angel  she 
pretended  to  be. 

"I  am  firmly  convinced,"  said  the  king,  "that  Hippocrates  con- 
jured the  fatal  crystal  cup  into  Nausikaa's  hand." 

"No,  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Irma,  eagerly,  "Hippocrates  is  a 
thoroughly  noble  man  ;  somewhat  of  a  pedant,  indeed,  but  too 
good  and  too  wise  to  do  anything  like  that." 

The  king  soon  left  and,  after  he  had  gone,  Walpurga  said  : 

"  Xow,  Countess,  you  might  open  every  vein  in  my  body  and  I 
could  n't  repeat  one  word  of  what  you  've  been  saying.  I  do  n't 
understand  a  word  of  it." 

"Yes,  WTalpurga,"  said  Irma,  "the  king's  a  very  learned  man, 
and  we  have  just  been  talking  about  a  book  which  was  read  yes 
terday." 

Walpurga  was  satisfied. 

"  I  had  expected  to  meet  the  queen  here,"  said  Irma,  after 
awhile,  passing  her  hand  over  her  face,  as  if  to  change  its  expres- 
sion. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  225 

"The  queen  isn't  coming  to-day,"  replied  Walpurga.  "She 
sent  word  that  she  isn't  very  well.  At  other  times,  she  nevei 
misses  being-  here  when  we  bathe  the  child,  and  there  's  noth- 
ing more  beautiful  either,  than  such  a  child  in  its  bath,  or  right 
after  the  bath.  It 's  like  a  new-born  babe,  and  splashes  and 
shouts  and  crows.  Won't  you  stop  and  see  it  for  once  ?  It 's  a 
real  treat." 

Irma  declined  and  soon  afterward  left  the  room. 

Silent  and  alone,  the  queen  lay  in  her  room.  Her  heart  still 
trembled  with  fear  of  the  consequences  of  what  she  had  done ; 
no,  of  what  had  happened  without  her  having  really  desired  it. 
A  dagger  had  been  forced  into  her  hand,  as  if  by  invisible  fate. 
She  could  not,  dared  not  use  it ;  and  yet  suspicion  filled  her  soul. 
Suspicion  !  The  word  suddenly  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  heard 
it  before,  just  as  she  had  in  truth  never  felt  what  it  meant.  Purity 
and  innocence  no  longer  exist.  Every  joyful  word,  every  cheerful 
expression,  every  smile  is  equivocal.  Every  harmless  remark  has  a 
new  meaning.  It  were  better  to  die  than  cherish  suspicion.  The 
blessed  gift  of  fancy  which  enables  its  possessor  faithfully  to  realize 
to  himself,  and  sympathize  with,  the  actions  and  thoughts  of 
others,  now  became  a  consuming  flame.  Spectres  appeared  before 
her  waking  eyes  and  would  not  be  laid.  If  the  dread  truth  were 
only  determined.  One  can  take  his  position  against  a  manifest 
wrong,  but  against  suspicion  there  is  none.  It  renders  one  weak 
and  unsteady ;  nothing  is  fixed ;  the  very  earth  under  one's  feet 
seems  to  tremble. 

The  queen  was  not  ill.  She  could  easily  enough  have  gone  to 
the  apartments  of  her  son ;  but  she  could  not  have  looked  into  his 
face  and  smiled — for  her  heart  was  filled  with  a  bitter  thought 
against  the  father. 

She  arose  quickly,  and  was  about  to  send  for  the  king.  She 
would  tell  him  all.  She  wished  him  to  release  her  from  the 
torment  of  suspicion.  She  would  believe  him.  She  would  only 
ask  him  honestly  to  acknowledge  whether  he  was  still  true  and  at 
one  with  her.  "  At  heart  he  's  frank  and  truthful,"  said  she  to  her- 
self, and  love  for  her  husband  welled  up  from  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
Still,  if  he  has  but  swerved  from  himself,  he  has  already  been  untrue  ; 
and  would  he  acknowledge  it  ?  Can  one  expect  a  man  to  answer 
on  his  conscience,  when  he  has  already  denied  that  conscience  ? 
And  if  he  were  to  acknowledge  the  horrible  fact,  she  would  still 
bear  it  in  silence.  Anything  was  better  than  this  suspicion  that 
poisoned  her  heart  and  hardened  her  soul.  Could  it  be  that  evil, 
nay,  the  mere  suspicion  of  evil,  destroys  everything  that  lies  within 
its  reach  ? 

She  sat  down  again  ;  she  could  not  ask  the  king. 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  she  at  last ;  "  I  must  overcome  this  temptation 
ind  the  spirit  of  truth  will  lend  me  strength." 
10* 


226  CLV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

She  thought  for  a  moment  of  making  Gunther  her  confidant.    He 

was  h?r  fatherly  friend.     "But  no,"  she  exclaimed  to  herself.  "I 

am  not  wer.k.     I  will  not  seek  help  from  others.     If  I  must  learn 

the  terr:!  le  truth,  I  will  do  it  by  myself;  and  if  it  is  a  delusion,  I 

to  conquer  it  unaided." 

At  table  and  in  the  social  circle,  the  queen's  behavior  toward  the 
kin-  and  Irma  was  more  loving  than  ever.  When  she  looked  at 
her  friend,  she  felt  as  if  she  ought  to  ask  forgiveness  for  having, 
even  for  a  moment,  thought  basely  of  her ;  but  when  she  was  alone 
she  felt  her  soul  carried  away  towards  him  and  her.  She  longed 
to  know  what  they  were  thinking  of,  what  they  were  doing  or  say- 
ing.— They  were  speaking  of  her,  smiling  at  and  ridiculing  her. 
Who  knows  ?  perhaps  wishing  her  dead. 

She,  indeed,  wished  that  she  were  dead. 

CHAPTER   X. 

**  T  'M  going  to  the  theatre  this  evening,"  said  Baum  to  Wal- 
1   purga,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  22d  of  January.  %  "  They  're 
going  to  play  a  great  piece.     What  a  pity  you  can't  go,  too." 

"  I  've  seen  enough  of  masquerading,"  replied  Walpurga.  "  I 
shall  stay  with  my  child.  He  's  the  only  one  in  the  whole  court 
who  can't  disguise  himself." 

Even-  seat  in  the  court  theatre  was  occupied  long  before  the  be- 
ginning of  the  play,  and  the  lively  talking  among  the  audience 
seemed  like  the  roar  of  the  sea.  Many  wondered  at  the  words  on 
the  play  bill : 

"/;/  Commemoration  of  Les sing's  Birthday 
EMILIA  GALOTTI 

B  Y  R  O  Y  A  L  C  O  M  M  A  X  D." 

They  spoke  in  hints,  but  understood  each  other  perfectly.  Was 
the  performance  intended  to  refute  certain  rumors?  Would  the 
court  attend,  and  who  would  form  the  suite? 

Three  dull  knocks  were  heard.  They  were  the  signal  that  the 
court  had  entered  the  passage  leading  from  the  palace  to  the  thea- 
tre. Even-  eye,  every  opera  glass  was  directed  to  the  royal  box. 

The  queen  entered,  radiant  with  youthful  beauty.  The  nobles 
who  occupied  the  first  tier  arose.  She  bowed  graciously,  and  then 
sat  down,  and  attentively  read  the  play-bill  that  was  fastened  to 
the  front  of  the  box.  The  king  entered  soon  after  and  took  the 
seat  beside  her.  He,  too,  saluted  the  nobles  who  were  still  stand- 
ing, and  who  seated  themselves  at  the  same  time  he  did,  just  as  if 
they  were  part  of  himself. 

The  king  reached  back  for  his  lorgnette,  which  was  handed  to 
Urn,  and  surveyed  the  audience,  while  the  orchestra  played  the 
pverture.  Irma's  wish  was  realized.  Since  the  new  intendant 
had  come  into  power,  there  was  music  at  the  beginning  of  the 
play  and  during  the  entr'actes. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  227 

"Who  's  sitting  behind  the  queen  ?  " 

"Countess  von  Wildenort." 

She  wore  a  single  rose  in  her  brown  hair.  She  was  exchanging 
a  few  complimentary  remarks  with  Colonel  Bronnen,  and  was  smil- 
ing and  showing  her  pearly  teeth. 

A  young  critic  in  the  pit  said  to  his  neighbor : 

"  It  is  surely  not  without  design  that  Countess  Wildenort,  like 
Emilia  Galotti,  wears  only  a  single  rose  in  her  hair." 

There  was  so  much  talking  during  the  overture,  that  those  who 
desired  to  listen  to  the  music  frequently  hissed,  but  without  avail ; 
for  it  wis  not  until  the  curtain  rose  that  the  audience  became  silent. 

It  is  not  until  near  the  end  of  the  first  act  of  the  play  that  there 
is  any  occasion  for  marked  applause.  The  prince's  haste  and  prej- 
udice are  shown  in  his  readiness  to  sign  the  death-warrant,  while 
the  carriage  waits  for  him.  Old  privy  councilor  Rota  withdraws 
the  document. 

In  order  to  mark  the  festal  character  of  the  evening's  perform- 
ance, the  intendant  had  selected  music  by  celebrated  composers, 
for  the  entr'actes.  The  malicious  maintained  that  this  was  only 
done  in  order  to  prevent  discussion  of  the  play,  which  had  not 
been  performed  for  many  years.  If  this  had  really  been  the  inten- 
tion, the  lively  conversation,  both  in  the  royal  box  and  among  the 
rest  of  the  audience,  prevented  its  success. 

In  reply  to  a  remark  of  the  king's,  the  intendant  said  : 

"  The  role  of  Rota,  although  insignificant,  is  quite  a  graceful 
one,  and,  in  this,  Lessing  has  proved  himself  the  master.  Another 
advantage  is  that  the  part  can  be  played  by  a  veteran." 

The  queen  looked  around  in  surprise — was  this  mere  acting,  in- 
stead of  a  living,  thrilling  fact  ? 

They  went  on  \vith  the  play.  The  scene  between  Appiani  and 
Marinelli  aroused  tumultuous  applause.  The  queen  never  once 
left  her  place,  although  it  was  her  wont  between  the  acts  to  retire 
to  the  salon  near  her  box ;  and  Irma,  as  first  maid  of  honor,  was 
obliged  to  remain  in  attendance. 

Between  the  third  and  fourth  acts,  the  lord  steward  met  Bron- 
nen in  the  corridor  and  said  :  "  If  they  would  only  get  through 
with  this  confounded,  democratic  play.  The  sweet  rabble  down 
there  may  become  demonstrative."  The  next  act  was  the  fourth, 
containing  the  scene  between  Orsina  and  Marinelli.  The  queen 
held  her  fan  with  a  convulsive  grasp.  She  saw  and  heard  all  that 
passed  on  the  stage,  while,  with  strained  attention,  she  listened  to 
the  quickened  breathing  of  Irma,  who  stood  behind  her.  She 
longed  to  turn  round  suddenly  and  look  into  her  face,  but  did  not 
venture  to  do  so.  With  one  and  the  same  glance,  she  saw  the 
figures  on  the  stage  and  Watched  her  husband's  countenance. 
Her  eyes  and  ears  did  double  service.  It  was  all  she  could  do  to 
control  herself.  The  play  went  on.  Orsina  and  Odoardo — if  Irma 


228  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

were  now  to  faint — What  then  ?  What  had  she  done  in  having 
this  piece  performed  ? — Orsina  hands  the  dagger  to  her  father,  and 
at  last  rises  into  a  frenzy  of  fury.  "If  we,  all  of  us,"  she  cried, 
"this  whole  host  of  forsaken  ones,  were  transformed  into  bacchan- 
tes and  furies,  with  him  in  our  possession,  and  were  tearing  him 
to  pieces  and  rending  the  flesh  from  his  limbs — yea,  tearing  out 
his  vitals  in  order  to  find  the  heart  which  the  traitor  promised  to 
each  and  yet  gave  to  none  !  Ah,  what  a  dance  that  would  be ! 
That  would — " 

If  Irma  should  cry  out ! — The  queen  clutched  the  rail  of  the 
box  with  convulsive  grasp.  She  felt  as  if  she,  herself,  must  cry 
out  to  the  audience. 

But  all  was  as  silent  as  before. 

When  the  scene  was  over,  the  king,  addressing  Irma,  in  i  care- 
less tone,  said  :  "  Miiller  plays  excellently,  does  she  not  ?  " 

"  Wonderfully,  Your  Majesty,  although  some  parts  were  over- 
acted. The  passage,  '  I  have  nothing  to  pardon,  because  I  have 
not  been  offended,'  she  gave  in  too  sharp  a  tone,  and  her  voice 
seemed  unnatural.  The  sentences  of  one  who  had  been  thus 
openly  humiliated  should  be  more  like  dagger  thrusts ;  the  words 
should  prepare  us  for  the  sharp  point  of  the  dagger  that  follows 
them/' 

Irma's  voice  was  firm  and  clear.  The  queen  fanned  herself,  in 
order  to  cool  her  burning  face  and  prevent  herself  from  betraying 
her  agitation. 

One  whose  conscience  reproved  her  could  not  have  spoken  thus. 
Her  voice  must  have  faltered  and  the  terrible  lesson  of  the  play 
itself  must  have  petrified  her,  thought  the  queen,  as  she  turned 
towards  Irma  and  nodded  pleasantly. 

I  am  stronger  than  I  imagined,  thought  Irma  to  herself,  smooth- 
ing her  gloves.  While  she  heard  Odoardo's  words,  a  mist  had 
arisen  before  her  eyes.  If  it  had  been  her  father — and  it  might 
have  been  he.  A  cry  arose  from  her  heart,  but  did  not  pass  her 
lips;  and  now  she  was  quiet  and  self-composed.  The  play  pro- 
gressed without  interruption,  and,  when  it  was  over,  the  audience 
were  not  content  until  they  had  twice  called  the  Odoardo  of  the 
evening  before  the  curtain.  The  king  joined  in  the  applause. 

The  court  party  returned  to  the  palace,  and  retired  to  the  queen's 
apartments  for  tea. 

The  queen  was  cheerful,  as  if  she  had  just  escaped  from  some 
danger.  For  the  first  time  in  a  long  while  her  bearing  was  easy 
and  vivacious.  A  dread  load  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart.  She 
was  now  free  and  vowed  that  she  would  never  more  think  basely 
of  any  one ;  and,  least  of  all,  of  her  neighbor. 

They  were  at  tea,  and  the  queen*  asked  her  husband:  "And 
bad  you  also  never  seen  the  play  before  ?  " 

"Oh,  ye.s.     I   saw  it  on  my  travels;   I   forget  where  it  was.' 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  229 

Turning  towards  the  intendant,  he  added:  "I  think  that  the 
costume  of  the  last  century  was  very  appropriate.  When  I  saw 
the  play  before,  it  was  in  modern  attire,  which  seemed  quite  out  of 
place.  In  spite  of  its  classic  character,  the  play  has  a  thin  crust  of 
powder  which  one  dare  not  blow  away,  lest  the  whole,  both  scene 
and  action,  become  unnatural." 

The  intendant  was  delighted. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  piece  ?  "  asked  the  king  of  Gunther. 

"  Your  Majesty,  it  is  one  of  our  classics." 

"  You  're  not  always  so  orthodox." 

"Nor  am  I  in  this  case,"  replied  Gunther;  "I  can  safely  say 
that  I  honor  Lessing  with  all  my  heart  and  perhaps,  indeed,  with 
undue  partiality.  But  in  this  play,  Lessing  had  not  yet  arrived  at 
the  repose  of  freedom.  It  is  the  result  of  noblest  melancholy,  and 
might  be  termed  fragmentary  and  incomplete ;  for  the  account  is 
not  closed,  and  at  the  end  there  still  remains  an  unfilled  breach. 
This,  however,  arises  from  the  fact  that  a  great  historical  subject 
taken  from  the  age  of  the  Romans  has  been  transferred  to  the 
cabinet  and  country-seat  of  a  petty  Italian  prince." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  "  enquired  the  king.  Gunther  went  on  to 
explain  : 

"  In  this  play,  there  is  a  pathos  of  despair  which  reaches  its  climax 
in  the  final  question  :  'Is  it  not  enough  that  princes  are  men  ? 
Must  they  also  learn  that  their  friends  are  demons  in  disguise  ? ' 
One  might  assume  that  this  discovery  was  a  punishment  that 
would  cling  to  the  prince  for  life.  Henceforth,  he  must  become  a 
changed  man.  But  this  epigrammatic  confession  of  his  own  weak- 
ness and  of  the  baseness  of  those  who  environ  him,  does  not  seem 
to  me  a  full  expiation.  A  question,  and  such  as  this,  at  the  close  of 
of  a  drama  whose  aim  should  be  to  leave  us  reconciled  with  eternal 
and  unchanging  law,  can  only  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  key- 
note of  the  whole  play  is  sarcastic.  He  whom  certain  things  will 
not  deprive  of  his  reason,  has  none  to  lose.  The  fault  of  the  play 
• — Lessing's  love  of  truth  would  court  the  boldest  investigation — the 
gap,  as  it  were,  lay  in  the  fact  that  Lessing  has  transferred  the  act 
of  Virginius  from  the  Roman  forum  to  the  modern  stage  and  has 
given  us,  instead  of  the  infuriated  citizen  with  knife  in  hand,  the 
malcontent  Colonel  Galotti.  The  act  of  Virginius  was  the  turning 
point  that  led  to  a  great  political  catastrophe,  after  which  came  re- 
volution and  expiation.  But  in  Lessing's  play,  the  deed  takes  place 
at  the  end,  and  leads  to  no  results.  It  closes  with  a  question,  as  it 
were,  or  rather  with  an  unresolved  dissonance." 

Although  this  explanation  had,  at  first,  been  given  in  a  some- 
what acrimonious  tone,  it  gave  great  satisfaction.  It  elevated  the 
subject,  and  the  painful  impressions  awakened  by  it,  into  the  cool 
serene  atmosphere  of  criticism. 

"What  struck  me.  as  peculiar,  in  the  play,"  said  Irma,  unable  to 


230  0-Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

m 

remain  silent,  "was  that  I  discovered  two  marriage  stories  in  it.' 

"  Marriage  stories  ?  and  two  of  them  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Emilia  is  the  offspring  of  an  unfortunate,  or,  to 
speak  plainly,  a  bad  marriage.  Odoardo,  with  his  rude  virtue, 
ami  Claudia,  so  yielding,  led  each  other  a  terrible  life  and,  in  the 
end,  parted  without  scandal.  He  remained  on  his  estate,  while 
she  took  the  daughter  to  the  city,  in  order  that  she  might  there 
receive  the  finishing  touches.  Emilia  was  obliged  to  devote  much 
of  her  time  to  the  piano.  Papa  Appiani  was,  in  a  moral  sense, 
always  on  stilts.  Madame  Claudia  was  worldly  minded  and  fond 
of  society.  The  fruit  of  this  marriage  was  Emilia,  and  her  mar- 
riage with  Appiani  would  have  been  just  like  that  of  her  parents." 

"  Cleverly  expounded,"  said  the  king,  arrd,  encouraged  by  his 
praise,  Irma  continued  : 

"Emilia's  grandmother  may  have  said:  'I  am  unhappy,  but  I 
would  like  my  daughter  Claudia  to  be  happy  with  good  Odoardo,' 
who  was  then  but  a  captain.  And  in  turn,  mother  Claudia  said : 
'  I  am  not  happy,  but  my  daughter  shall  be ; '  and,  at  a  later  day, 
Emilia  would  have  said  :  '  I  am  not  happy,  but  my  daughter,  etc., 
etc.'  It  's  an  everlasting  round  of  misery  and  resignation.  Who 
is  this  Mr.  Appiani?  A  splenetic  counselor  to  the  embassy,  who  is 
out  of  employ,  and  merely  marries  for  the  sake  of  the  worthy  man 
whom  he  thus  makes  his  father-in-law,  and  who,  after  marriage, 
would  preach  to  his  wife  just  as  Odoardo  had  done  before  him, 
and  with  just  as  much  effect.  Appiani  was  worth  a  charge  of 
powder,  or  even  two,  as  Marinelli  thought.  Why  had  he  no  eye 
for  the  toilette  of  his  betrothed  ?  The  very  next  winter,  Emilia 
would  have  died  of  ennui  in  the  country,  or,  becoming  transformed 
in  spirit,  would  have  founded  an  infant  school  on  her  estate.  If 
Emilia  could  sing,  her  melodies  would  have  been  like  those  of 
Mozart's  Zerlina.  Masetto  Appiani  felt  that  he  would  not  suit, 
and,  although  he  could  not  tell  why,  had  good  reasons  for  feel- 
ing so  sad  before  the  betrothal.  Appiani  ought  to  have  married  a 
a  widow  with  seven  children.  The  man's  heart  was  tender  by  na- 
ture. Had  he  quarelled  with  his  wife,  he  would  have  said,  as  he 
did  after  his  dispute  with  Marinelli :  '  Ah,  that  did  me  good.  It 
stirred  up  my  blood  and  now  I  feel  like  a  new  and  better  man.' 
Emilia  loves  the  prince  and,  therefore,  fears  him.  He  who  be- 
comes her  husband  by  virtue  of  the  marriage  contract,  has  never 
possessed  her  love.  I  would  have  chosen  Appiani  for  a  parlia- 
mentary delegate,  but  not  for  a  husband.  Such  a  man  should 
either  remain  unmarried,  or  else  take  unto  himself  a  wife  who 
founds  soup-kitchens ;  not  an  Emilia,  who  is  enough  of  a  coquette 
to  know  what  becomes  her." 

Irma's  cheeks  glowed  while  she  thus  spoke.  She  felt  as  if  rid- 
ing o'er  forest  and  field  on  a  wild  courser.  She  had  begun  in  bit- 
lerness  and,  yielding  to  imagination,  she  went  on  boldly  and  fear- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  231 

lessly.  She  had  lost  all  fear  and  felt  a  conscious  pride  in  her  sway 
over  life  itself  and  all  that  surrounded  her. 

The  evening  which  had  threatened  dire  storms  had  brought  re- 
freshing breezes  and  a  purified  atmosphere. 

The  queen  breathed  freely  once  more,  and  felt  happy  in  the  midst 
of  this  circle  of  good  and  gifted  people. 

Immediately  after  the  play,  Baum  had  hurried  to  Walpurga  and 
told  her :  "  Oh,  what  a  play  we  've  had.  I  wonder  they  allow  them 
to  play  anything  so  free.  There  's  a  prince  who  Xjust  about  to 
marry  a  princess,  and  has  an  old  love  who  's  still  good-looking. 
He  wants  to  get  rid  of  her  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  tries  to  procure 
a  new  one  who  is  very  beautiful  and  whose  marriage  is  to  take 
place  that  very  day.  He  has  a  chamberlain  who  is  his  friend,  but 
whom  he  treats  quite  roughly  if  he  does  n't  bring  him  what  he 
wants  on  the  instant.  He  treats  him  as  an  inferior  and  calls  him 
a  fool  one  moment,  and  embraces  him  the  next.  So  the  chamber- 
lain manages  to  have  the  bridegroom  shot  dead  and  the  bride  car- 
ried away.  But,  all  at  once,  the  old  love  comes  and  meets  the 
father  of  Emilia  Galotti  and  sets  him  on,  and  the  father  stabs  his 
daughter,  and  she  drops  down  dead." 

"And  what  becomes  of  the  prince  and  the  chamberlain?" 
asked  Walpurga. 

"  I  do  n't  know." 

"Tell  me  once  more,"  said  Walpurga;  "what  was  the  bride's 
name  ?  " 

"  There  's  the  play  bill.     It 's  all  there." 

Walpurga  read  the  bill ;  the  hand  with  which  she  held  it  trem- 
bled. There  were  names  which  the  king  and  Irma  had  mentioned 
that  day,  when  she  had  not  understood  a  word  of  what  they  were 
saying. 

"  And  so  you  Ve  had  that  story  performed.  Oh  you —  The 
whole  pack  of  you  are — I  know — " 

Mademoiselle  Kramer's  advice  stood  her  in  good  stead.  Wal- 
purga did  not  venture  to  utter  the  thoughts  that  filled  her  mind. 

On  the  following  evening,  there  was  a  court  concert.  The  large 
hall  in  the  main  building  was  crowded  with  men  wearing  gay  uni- 
forms and  crosses  of  various  orders,  and  richly  dressed  ladies. 
The  select  court  circle  were  in  the  hall,  and  the  guests  in  the 
adjoining  apartments  and  galleries. 

Those  who  belonged  to  the  queen's  small  circle,  and  who  had 
been  together  yesterday,  greeted  each  other  with  a  familiar  air. 
They  did  not  keep  together  to-day.  It  was  their  duty  to  mingle 
ivith  those  guests  who  were  less  frequently  invited.  The  king  was 
attired  in  the  uniform  of  the  hussars  and  was  in  a  happy  mood. 
During  the  pauses,  he  would  walk  through  the  rooms,  speaking  to 
this  one  and  that,  and  would  have  a  pleasant  word  for  every  one. 
The  queen  looked  as  if  suffering,  and  it  was  evident  that  it  cost 
her  an  effort  to  keep  up. 


232  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

It  was  Irrna's  habit  to  enter  into  cheerful  conversation  with  the 
singers,  who  were  always  seated  on  a  raised  platform  separated 
from  the  rest  of  the  room.  The  malicious  asserted  that  she  did 
this,  in  order  to  make  a  parade  of  her  affability ;  but  Irma  simply 
believed  it  her  duty  to  be  kind  and  affable  to  the  artists. 

Doctor  Gunther  was  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  director 
of  the  academy  and  intendant  Schoning.  They  were  discussing 
designs  for  paintings  to  decorate  the  new'  parliament  house,  which 
had  recently  been  completed  by  the  king's  orders.  The  artist 
regretted  that  there  was  no  accepted  symbol  of  the  constitution. 
The  conventional  antique  female  figure  holding  a  sheet  of  paper, 
was  always  cold  and  unsatisfactory. 

"You  re-awaken  an  old  thought,"  replied  the  intendant. 
"What  w-e  lack  is  the  myth-creating  power  and,  if 'you  will  allow 
the  expression  in  this  case,  the  court-directing  power.  Just  as 
there  is  a  field  marshal,  so  should  there  be  a  court  director  who — 
I  mean  it  seriously — should  always  have  precedence  in  all  affairs 
of  importance,  and,  at  court,  should  always  represent  the  constitu- 
tion. Believe  me,  the  constitution  is  not  admitted  at  court.  What 
I  mean  is,  it  is  not  represented  and  is,  therefore,  unknown  there. 
Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  privy  councilor  Gunther?  " 

Gunther,  rousing  himself  from  a  reverie,  answered  :  "  There  's 
no  longer  any  use  in  trying  to  find  myths  and  symbols  to  represent 
things  which  have  been  weighed  and  measured  and  of  which  we 
have  distinct  conceptions.  It  \vould  be  just  as  unsuccessful  as  an 
attempt  to  represent  the  goddess  of  reason." 

He  spoke  in  an  absent  manner,  for  he  was  constantly  watching 
Irma.  She  wras  about  to  return  to  the  company,  when  he  advanced 
towards  her.  She  said  :  "  Ah,  nowadays  everything  is  according 
to  programme.  In  olden  times,  the  king  sent  for  a  bard  with  his 
harp,  and  the  old  man,  with  his  white  beard,  sang  wondrous  songs. 
But  now,  nothing  less  than  an  orchestra  and  a  dozen  singers  will 
do,  and  one  has  the  musical  bill  of  fare  in  his  hand." 

Gunther  did  not  seem  disposed  to  enter  upon  the  subject,  and 
replied  : 

"  I  've  been  thinking  seriously  about  what  you  said  yesterday." 

"  I  never  think  about  what  was  said  yesterday." 

"  But  I  'm  a  pedant  and  can't  help  it.  You  're  right.  Emilia 
would  never  have  been  happy  with  Appiani." 

"  I  'm  glad  that  you  agree  with  me." 

"Do  you  think  that  Emilia  would  have  been  happy  with  the 
prince?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  for  how  long?" 

"  That  I  do  n't  know." 

"  She  would  soon  have  been  undeceived,  for  this  prince  is  only  a 
lelfish  voluptuary,  one  who  steals  sweets  in  love  and  in  life ;  in  a 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  233 

word,  a  dilettante.  As  long  as  a  dilettante  is  young,  the  grace 
which  is  inseparable  from  the  vigor  and  elasticity  of  youth,  lend  him 
what  is  called  an  interesting  air.  But  when  he  becomes  older  he 
copies  himself,  repeats  the  few  phrases  which  he  has  heard  from  oth- 
ers or  has,  perhaps,  blundered  together  for  himself,  and,  as  if  disguis- 
ing his  soul  with  rouge,  affects  the  possession  of  youthful  enthusiasm. 
Beneath  the  surface,  all  is  withered,  empty,  decayed  and  fragile. 
It  is  not  without  reason  that  Lessing  depicted  Hettore  as  young 
and  handsome,  and  on  the  eve  of  consummating  a  lawful  marriage. 
He  is  ready  to  make  Appiani  embassador  to  his  father.  Are  you 
not  of  my  opinion  ?  "  asked  Gunther  at  last.  He  noticed  that  Irma 
seemed  unwilling  to  answer. 

"  Oh,  excuse  me,"  said  she  ;  "  I  Ve  drunk  so  deeply  of  the  music 
of  to-davtyhat  I  Ve  no  memory  left  for  the  dry  affairs  of  yesterday." 

She  took  leave  of  him  with  a  pleasant  smile  and  disappeared  in 
the  throng. 

CHAPTER     XI. 

A  LTHOUGH  its  advent  had  been  preceded  by  much  gaiety  and 
I\  merriment,  there  were  quiet  times  at  court  during  the  carnival 
season. 

The  queen  was  ill. 

The  excitement  of  the  last  few  weeks  had  greatly  impaired  her 
strength,  and  it  was  feared  that  her  life  was  in  danger. 

Irma  now  spent  most  of  her  time  in  the  queen's  apartments, 
and  when,  at  rare  intervals,  she  visited  Walpurga,  looked  pale  and 
worn. 

Walpurga  still  kept  on  spinning,  and  the  child  thrived  amazingly. 

"  Oh,  how  true  were  our  good  queen's  words  !  '  God  be  praised, 
my  child  ! '  said  she  to  the  prince,  one  day,  '  that  you  're  healthy 
and  away  from  me.  You  live  for  yourself,  alone.'  Yes,  she  's 
looked  deep  into  every  one's  heart,  and  I  think  she  's  too  good  for 
this  world.  Mother  's  said,  a  thousand  times,  that  the  Lord  soon 
calls  those  who  are  always  good,  and  who  never  get  downright 
angry  and  furious.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  take  my  prince  home  with 
me  !  Spring  '11  soon  be  here.  Oh  God !  if  he  were  to  lose  his 
mother  and  me  too  !  " 

Thus  did  Walpurga  express  herself  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer, 
who  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  console  her. 

Baum  so  managed  it  that  there  was  always  something  for  him 
o  do  in  the  crown  prince's  apartments.  He  was  no  longer  impor- 
unate,  but  simply  grateful  and  obliging,  in  his  attentions  to  Wal- 
purga. He  was  determined  to  gain  her  sympathy,  for  that  was 
worth  more  to  him  than  aught  else.  And  now  when  Walpurga 
confided  her  trouble  to  him,  he  said  : 

"  Do  I  wish  you  well  ?  " 


234  O-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Yes,  I  can't  deny  that  you  do,"  replied  Walpurga. 

"  Then  listen  to  what  I've  got  to  tell  you.  There's  nothing  more 
tiresome,  or  niggardly,  than  a  good,  simple  marriage ;  that  is.  what 
they  call  a  '  good  marriage  '.  What  does  one  get  by  it  ?  Wages, 
a  tip,  once  in  a  while,  from  a  stranger,  or  a  lew  bottles  of  wine 
which  one  can  make  away  with.  In  Baroness  Steigeneck's  time,  it 
was  quite  different,  for  then  the  valets  de  chambre  and  every  one 
about  the  place  grew  rich,  and  had  houses  in  the  town,  and  owned 
mortgages  and  estates.  But  now,  thank  God,  it  '11  soon  be  differ- 
ent again." 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Walpurga. 

"  I  wish  I  were  in  your  place,  only  for  one  hour,"  replied  Baum. 
"  She  thinks  more  of  you  than  she  does  of  any  one.  It  was  here 
that  they  came  to  an  understanding,  and,  if  you  Ve  a  mind  to,  you 
can  get  all  the  money  you  want,  and  woods  and  fields  and  mead- 
ows besides.  All  I  ask  for,  is  the  place  of  steward  at  the  sum- 
mer palace." 

••  And  how  am  I  to  do  all  that  ?  " 

"Oh  you — "  laughed  Baum.  " Have  n't  you  noticed  anything  ? 
Have  n't  you  eyes  in  your  head?  If  the  queen  dies,  the  king  will 
marry  your  Countess.  She's  a  free  countess,  and  can  marry  any 
king;  and  if  the  queen  doesn't  die,  it  won't  matter  much  anyhow." 

".I  'd  like  to  box  your  ears  for  saying  such  a  thing ;  and  the  next 
minute  you  '11  be  cringing  and  bowing  to  them.  How  can  you 
say  such  a  thing  ?  " 

""  But  if  it 's  true  ?  " 

"But  it  isn't  true." 

"  But  if  it  were  true,  for  all  ?  " 

"  It  can't  be  true." 

"  But  I  tell  you  it  is." 

"  And  even  if  it  were —  But,  forgive  me,  good  Countess  !  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  it 's  only  he  that  says  it. — If  it  were 
true,  I  'd  rather  die  than  ask  for  the  wages  of  sin.  You  're  a  good- 
for-nothing  fellow,  and  if  you  ever  say  such  a  thing  again,  I  '11  tell 
on  you.  Take  my  word  for  it,  I  will." 

Baum  pretended  that  it  was  all  a  joke.  But  Walpurga  could  see 
no  joke  in  the  matter,  and  he  was  glad  when  she,  at  last,  promised 
to  say  nothing  about  it.  He  remarked  that  he  required  no  medi- 
ator arid  would  manage  to  look  out  for  himself. 

In  Countess  Irma's  apartment,  which  was  just  below  that  of  the 
crown  prince  and  Walpurga,  a  scene  of  quite  a  different  nature 
was  going  on. 

Bruno  was  there,  and  thus  addressed  Irma  : 

"  I  'm  in  trouble,  and  I  can't  help  saying  that  it  's  your  fault. 
Mother  Sylph  has  inflicted  herself  upon  me,  and  is  very  much 
'p  my  way." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  235 

41  My  mother-in-law  has  come  and  has  told  me  with  a  smile, 
that  as  long  as  my  sister sfce,  too,  might  just  as  well  be  here." 

Irma  covered  her  face  with  both  her  hands. 

"And  do  you,  too,  believe  it  ?  " 

"What  matters  it  what  I  believe?  It's  the  town-talk,  and 
I  hat  's  enough." 

"  It  is  n't  enough  ;   I  shall  teach  them  to  talk  differently." 

"Very  well.  Go  into  every  house,  to  every  man  and  every 
woman/ and  tell  them  to  think  differently.  But  there  's  one  thing 
you  can  do.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is  ?  " 

Irma  nodded  a  silent  assent. 

"  I  know  that  the  intendant  sued  for  your  hand  last  summer.  He 
would  feel  it  an  honor  to  be  able  to  call  you  his  wife.  Make  up 
your  mind;  to  accept  him." 

A  servant  entered  and  announced  the  intendant. 

"What  a  strange  coincidence  !     Make  up  your  mind  at  once." 

The  intendant  entered.  Bruno  greeted  him  most  cordially,  and 
Irma's  welcome  was  a  friendly  one. 

Bruno  soon  took  his  leave.  The  intendant  handed  Irma  a  man- 
uscript play  and  requested  her  to  read  it  and  give  him  her  opinion 
of  it.  She  accepted  it  with  thanks,  and  laid  it  on  a  table. 

"  Ah,  when  spring  returns,  I  shall  not  care  to  hear  the  theatre 
mentioned.  Our  theatre  is  a  winter  plant." 

"  This  piece  is  intended  for  next  winter." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  long  for  summer.  When  everything  is 
barren  and  desolate  as  at  present,  one  can  hardly  realize  that  there 
ever  were  sunshine  and  green  trees  and  sparkling  seas.  Do  you 
remember  the  balmy  day  last  summer,  when  we  met  on  the  lake  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed  ;  very  well." 

A  long  pause  ensued.  Irma  waited  for  the  intendant  to  speak, 
but  he  remained  silent.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  that  made  by 
the  parrot  hopping  about  in  its  cage  and  pecking  at  the  golden 
wires. 

"I  long,"  said  Irma,  "to  visit  my  friend  Emma  next  summer.  I 
would  like  to  revel  in  solitude.  This  winter  has  been  too  noisy  and 
exciting." 

"Yes,  and,  besides  that,  the  queen's  illness." 

The  parrot  tugged  at  the  golden  wires,  and  Irma  slightly  loos- 
ened the  red  velvet  ribbon  on  her  morning  dress.  t 

"  Do  you  intend  to  visit  the  lake  again  ?  "  said  Irma,  trembling. 

"  No,  dear  Countess ;  I  shall  visit  the  various  theatres  of  Ger- 
many, in  order  to  engage  a  second  basso  and,  above  all,  a  young 
person  for  the  lover's  parts.  You  would  hardly  believe  how  scarce 
youthful  lovers  have  become  in  the  German  world." 

Irma  laughed  heartily,  while  the  blood  mounted  to  her  temples. 
She  felt  quite  faint. 

The  servant  announced  Baroness  Steigeneck. 


236  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"I  'm  not  at  home,"  was  Irma's  hurried  reply.  "Pray  remain 
a  moment  longer,"  said  she,  addressing-  the  intendant. 

He  remained  for  some  time  longer,  and  referred  to  the  manu- 
script, mentioning  that  the  passages  to  be  omitted  were  marked 
with  a  red  pencil.  Irma  promised  to  read  the  play,  thanked  him 
foi  the  compliment  paid  her  judgment,  and  conversed  in  a  light 
and  careless  tone,  until  he  had  left  the  room.  As  soon  as  he 
had  gone,  she  threw  herself  on  a  sofa,  where  she  lay  for  a  long 
while,  weeping  bitterly.  At  last,  she  looked  up,  as  if  bewildered, 
for  she  thought  she  had  heard  a  voice  saying :  "  You  meant  to— * 
Is  there  no  other  course  left  ?  Must  one  who  has  swerved  from 
the  straight  path,  necessarily  sink  into  the  mire  of  self-abasement  ?  " 

Suddenly,  she  arose,  shook  her  head  defiantly  and  brushed  the 
hair  from  her  face.  She  ordered  her  carriage,  intending  to  drive 
to  the  sculptor's  atelier  and  resume  her  work.  The  servant  an- 
nounced Colonel  von  Bronnen.  "Let  him  enter,"  said  Irma.  A 
moment  later,  Irma  was  apologizing  for  receiving  him  in  her  hat. 
She  was  just  about  to  drive  out. 

"  I  can  call  again,  dear  Countess,  and  will  only  leave  the  mes- 
sages I  have  for  you." 

"Messages?  " 

"Yes,  from  your  father." 

"  From  my  father  ?     Where  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"At  Wildenort." 

"Were  you  there?" 

"Yes,  I  had  some  matters  to  attend  to  in  the  neighborhood, 
and,  without  further  introduction,  called  on  your  father.  1  felt  that 
I  had  a  right  to  call  myself  an  intimate  friend  of  yours." 

"And  how  fares  it  with  my  father?  " 

"  As  it  should  with  the  father  of  such  a  daughter." 

"Of  such  a  daughter — " 

"  Pardon  me,  dearest  Countess.  You  are  in  a  hurry,  and  I  am 
still  so  impressed  by  your  father's  great  and  noble  nature,  that  I 
would  rather  we  were  both  calm — " 

"  I  am  quite  calm  now ;  pray  tell  me,  have  you  a  message  for 
me  ?  " 

"  I  have  not.  But  it  seems  to  me,  dear  Countess,  as  if  I  were 
just  beginning  to  understand  you. — O,  what  a  man  your  father  is  !  " 

Irma  looked  up  in  surprise.  She  thought  of  Appiani  speaking  to 
Odoardo. 

The  Colonel  continued,  calmly  : 

"  Dear  Countess,  I  am  not  an  enthusiastic  youth  ;  but,  during 
the  short  time  I  was  permitted  to  spend  with  your  father,  I  felt  as 
if  the  exalted  existence  which  had  once  been  my  ideal  had  become 
a  real,  living  fact.  Such  perfect  communings  are  impossible  unless 
one  feels  sure  that  he  is  looked  upon  with  favor,  and  I  feel  that  I 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  gain  your  father's  good  opinion." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  237 

"  You  fully  deserve  it.  Excuse  me,  while  I  lay  off  my  hat.  Pray 
take  a  seat  and  tell  me  more  about  father."  She  removed  her  hat ; 
her  excitement  had  only  added  to  her  beauty. 

She  rang  for  a  servant  and  ordered  him  to  send  the  carriage 
away. 

The  Colonel  seated  himself. 

Irma  was  all  attention.  "Now  tell  me  all,"  said  she,  brushing 
back  her  curls. 

-"You,  of  all  others,  will  understand  me,  when  I  say  that  I 
passed  sublime  hours  with  your  father.  And  yet  I  can  recount 
nothing  definite  in  regard  to  them.  If,  while  rambling  through  the 
woods,  I  pluck  a  spray  and  fasten  it  to  my  hat,  what  can  the  spray 
tell  of  the  rustling  of  the  forest,  or  of  the  free  mountain  air  ?  It  is 
merely  a  symbol,  both  for  us  and  to  those  we  meet,  of  the  joy  that 
pervades  our  whole  being." 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Irma.  They  sat  opposite  each  other, 
and  neither  of  them  spoke  for  some  time. 

"Did  my  father  mention  my  brother?" 

"  No.  The  word  '  son '  never  passed  his  lips.  Oh,  Countess  ! 
the  man  to  whom  pure  love  vouchsafes  the  happiness  of  becoming 
a  son — " 

Emotion  seemed  to  choke  his  utterance.  Irma  trembled  ;  hei 
heart  beat  quickly.  Here  was  a  man,  noble  and  highly  esteemed, 
who  offered  her  his  heart  and  hand.  Yea,  his  heart,  and  she  had 
none  to  give  him  in  return.  She  felt  a  pang  that  pierced  her  very 
soul. 

"I  feel  happy,"  said  she,  "that  father,  in  his  solitude,  has  once 
more  seen  that  this  stirring,  bustling  court  contains  some  worthy 
men  ;  men  like  yourself,  who  stand  for  that  which  is  best  in  all 
things.  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  reject  my  honest  praise.  I  know  that 
true  merit  is  always  modest,  because  it  is  never  satisfied  with  it- 
self." 

"Your  father  expressed  the  same  thought,  in  the  very  same 
words." 

"  I  believe  he  must  have  taught  it  to  me  ;  if  not  in  words,  at  all 
events  by  his  example.  I  would  have  liked  to  see  you  and  him  to- 
gether. Your  presence  must  have  restored  his  faith  in  humanity. 
You  are  a  messenger  of  goodness,  and  since  you  are  good,  you  be- 
lieve in  the  virtue  of  others." 

"Where  I  have  once  felt  respect  and  love,"  replied  Bronnen,  "I 
am  unchangeable.  I  should  like  to  write  to  your  father  at  an  early 
day.  I  should  love,  dear  Countess,  to  send  him  the  best  of  news, 
and  in  the  best  words  that  language  affords.  Countess  Irma,  I 
long  to  tell  him — " 

"My  dear  friend,"  interposed  Irma,  "I  am,  like  my  father,  of  a 
solitary  nature.  I  thank  you.  You  do  not  know  how  greatly  your 
visit  and  all  that  you  have  told  me,  has  benefited  me.  I  thank 


238  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

you  with  all  my  heart.  Let  us  remain  friends.  Give  me  your  hand 
as  a  pledge.  Let  us  remain  friends,  just  as  we  have  been.  I  thank 
you — " 

Her  voice  was  choked  with  tears. 

The  Colonel  took  his  leave.  Irma  was  alone.  She  lay  kneeling 
near  the  sofa.  Her  heart  was  filled  with  unutterable  sorrow.  The 
coxcomb  had  rejected  her.  Then  came  a  man  worthy  of  the  best 
of  wives.  He  loved  and  trusted  her,  and  she  had  refused  him. 
His  kind  and  honest  heart  had  a  right  to  ask  for  full,  unbounded 
love. 

She  shook  off  the  mingled  feeling  of  distress  and  mortification. 
The  thought  that  she  had  acted  honorably,  soothed  her  and  seemed 
like  refreshing  dew  to  her  whirling  brain.  But  then,  again,  it 
galled  her  when  she  asked  herself:  "How  far  have  you  sunk, 
that  you  are  obliged  to  make  a  show  of  simple  honesty  ?  And 
where  lives  the  girl  who,  if  not  bound  by  love,  has  a  right  to 
reject  the  man  whom  you  have  just  refused  ?  He  cannot  but  es- 
teem you  and  your  love." 

She  knew  not  how  long  she  lay  there.  She  laughed  and  wept, 
lamented  and  rejoiced. 

Her  maid  entered.     It  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  queen  was  ill.  Her  life  was  saved,  but  a  hope  \vas  lost. 
It  was  on  a  stormy  morning  in  spring,  that  Baum,  earning  a 
little  coffin  that  contained  the  corpse  of  a  still-born  babe,  descended 
the  back  stairs  of  the  palace.  He  walked  so  softly  that  he  did  not 
hear  his  own  footsteps.  He  was  followed  by  Madame  Leoni,  the 
queen's  waiting-woman,  who  held  a  white  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  a  carriage  was  in  waiting.  Baum 
was  obliged  to  tell  the  coachman,  who  was  not  in  court  liven", 
where  to  drive  to.  Scarcely  any  one  in'  the  palace  knew  of  what 
was  going  on. 

They  drove  out  of  town  and  towards  the  church-yard.  An  un- 
named child  is  not  placed  in  the  vault,  but  is  buried  in  the  public 
cemetery.  The  grave-digger  was  waiting  for  them.  The  little 
corpse  was  lowered  into  the  open  grave,  without  a  name  or  sign  to 
mark  its  place  of  burial. 

About  the  same  time  that  Baum  and  Madame  Leoni  were  out 
at  the  churchyard,  Walpurga  was  thus  writing  home : 

" Thank  God !    all 's  over.     Now   I  can 

look  fonvard  to  happier  days.  We  've  had  a  terrible  time  here. 
If  all  goes  well,  there  are  only  seven  Sundays  more  till  I  come 
home  again.  I  can  hardly  believe  it  possible  that  I  've  got  to  go 
away  from  here  again,  ancl  yet  I  '11  thank  God  a  thousand  times, 
tthen  I  'm  with  you  once  more.  If  I  stay  here,  I  shall  grow  quite 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  23$ 

stupid  from  thinking  so  much.  There  's  misery  everywhere  and 
people  take  pleasure  in  each  other's  wickedness,  and,  even  if  it 
is  n't  true,  they  imagine  it  is  and  find  pleasure  in  it,  besides. 

"  There  was  some  talk  about  our  getting  a  place  here,  where  we 
could  all  be  comfortable  for  life  ;  but  the  queen  said  that  it  would 
be  batter  for  me  to  go  home,  and  whatever  she  says,  is  right. 
She  's  a  true  queen,  just  as  a  queen  ought  to  be.  God  has  made 
her  so,  on  purpose. 

"  I  'd  only  like  to  know  why  she  has  to  suffer  so  much. 

'*  Oh,  what  a  time  we  Ve  had.  Every  minute,  we  thought  the 
queen —  There  's  not  another  soul  like  her  in  the  world,  and  she 
had  so  much  to  bear,  and  we  're  all  human  after  all.  But  now, 
thank  God,  all 's  over.  The  king's  doctor  says  the  danger  's  over. 
But,  of  course,  what  we  hoped  for,  is  gone.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
it  made  me  feel,  to  think  that  I  was  so  well,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  must 
go  to  the  queen  and  give  up  every  drop  of  my  blood  to  save  her. 

"  Whenever  I  had  a  chance,  I  went  down  to  the  church — they 
have  their  church  in  the  house  here — and  prayed  for  the  queen'. 
My  Countess  has  never  once  come  to  me.  They  say  she  looks 
like  a  shadow.  All  the  passages  here  are  heated  and  the  whole 
house  is  just  like  one  warm  room,  and  the  people  in  the  palace 
would  pass  each  other,  without  taking  notice  of  any  one. 

"  On  the  evening  that  the  queen  thought  she  was  going  to  die, 
she  sent  for  me  and  the  child.  She  did  n't  say  much,  but  her 
eyes  told  it  all. 

"  And  now,  Hansei,  keep  yourself  ready ;  you  must  come  for  me. 
Next  time  I  write,  I  '11  tell  you  the  very  day  when  you  're  to  come. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  could  n't  wait ;  and  yet  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to 
think  that  I  must  leave  my  prince,  for  he  loves  me  so.  But  I  can't 
help  it.  I  've  got  a  child,  a  husband  and  a  mother  of  my  own,  at 
home,  and  am  tired  of  being  in  service  and  among  strangers. 

"  Does  the  storm  rage  so  terribly  with  you  ?  Oh,  how  the  wind 
blows.  If  it  would  only  bear  me  home.  Last  night  it  blew  clown 
a  tree  in  front  of  my  window.  It  was  a  fine,  large  tree,  and  fell 
on  a  figure  which  it  broke  to  pieces.  Every  one  said  it  was  very 
beautiful,  but  I  could  n't  see  any  beauty  in  such  a  thing.  It 
seemed  ever. so  impudent  as  it  stood  there,  and  was  enough  to 
make  one  blush.  I  could  see  the  tree  and  the  figure  from  my 
window,  and  people  are  already  there,  putting  things  to  rights,  and 
carrying  all  that 's  damaged  out  of  the  way. 

"  They  're  very  quick  about  such  things  here,  whether  it  be  a 
tree,  a  marble  figure,  or  a  dead  child. 

"  Forgive  me  for  writing  such  a  mixed-up  letter.  When  I  get 
home  again,  I  can  never  tell  you  all  that  I  Ve  gone  through  here, 
if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old. 

"  And  when  you  come,  dear  Hansei,  just  put  on  the  clothes  that 
the  king  sent,  and  one  of  the  fine  shirts  that  I  made  for  you  when 


24o  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

we  were  married.  They  're  in  the  blue  closet  on  the  upper  shelf 
on  the  left-hand  side  with  the  red  ribbon.  Forgive  me  for  writing 
all  this  to  you,  but  you  've  had  to  take  care  of  yourself  almost  a 
year,  and  I  have  n't  been  able  to  help  you,  or  get  your  things  for 
you.  Now  that  will  all  come  right  again.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  at 
home  already,  pulling  your  shirt  collar  straight,  as  we  go  to  church 
of  a  Sunday  morning.  I  feel  as  if  it  was  some  one  else  who  had 
gone  through  all  this,  and  as  if  the  days  were  a  high  mountain 
that  one  can  never  cross.  But  all  will  be  right  again,  and  we  '11 
be  merry  and  happy  together,  for,  thank  God,  we  've  sound  limbs, 
and  true  hearts.  Forgive  me,  all  of  you,  if  I  've  ever  said  a  single 
word  to  offend  you. 

"  If  I  had  you  here,  dear  Hansei,  I  'd  put  my  arms  round  your 
neck  and  kiss  you  to  my  heart's  content.  You  and  the  child  and 
mother  are  all  the  world  to  me.  I  'm  just  beginning  to  feel  how 
much  I  love  you  all,  and  I  can't  understand  how  I  could  stay  away 
from  you  so  long,  without  dying  of  grief  and  homesickness. 
•  "  Do  n't  forget  to  bring  a>  large  chest  with  you  for  they  've  given 
me  ever  so  many  things. 

"  And  bring  me  something  out  of  our  garden  ;  one  of  my  pinks, 
and  also  one  of  the  child's  shoes.  But  I  '11  tell  you  more  plainly 
about  this,  in  my  next  letter. 

"  I  can't  fall  into  the  ways  of  the  court  folk.  I  'm  told  that  they 
can't  touch  or  dress  their  own  dead.  They  have  it  all  done  by 
strangers,  who  are  paid  for  it. 

•'  I  've  been  spinning  rlax  this  winter,  for  shirts  for  my  prince. 
They  were  all  pleased  with  it,  and  came  to  my  room  to  look  on 
and  seemed  as  much  astonished  as  if  it  were  something  wonderful. 

"  I  like  to  think  of  working  in  the  fields  again,  it  makes  one 
much  healthier.  But  do  n't  worry,  for  nothing  ails  me,  except  that 
I  am  terribly  homesick. 

"And  now  farewell ;  a  thousand  times  farewell ! 
"Your 

"  WALPURGA  AXDERMATTEN." 

While  Walpurga,  with  slow  and  heavy  hand,  toiled  at  her  letter, 
Countess  Irma  sat  at  her  desk,  in  the  room  below,  and  dashed  off 
the  following  lines : 

"  J/x  Dearest  Emma  :  What  a  night  I  've  passed — I  must  be 
endowed  with  herculean  strength,  or  I  should  not  have  lived 
thrcugh  it.  I  have  looked  into  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  glaring  mon- 
sters who  dwell  above  and  below  our  daily  life  and  who  suddenly, 
and  without  warning,  burst  upon  us.  You  must  suffer  me  to  return 
to  you, — to  write  to  you  once  more.  I  do  n't  know  how  long  it  is 
since  I  've  done  so.  You  are  my  fortress,  my  rock,  my  shelter. 
You  are  firm,  immovable,  steadfast,  patient.  When  in  distress,  I 
come  to  you.  I  flee  to  you. 

"It  was  a  terrible  night.     The  tree  still  stands,  but  a  young 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  241 

blossom  was  broken  off.  I  came  from  the  queen's  apartment ;  I 
could  not  pray,  but  stood  by  the  window,  and  thought,  while  I 
looked  out  into  the  night :  Thou  who  renewest  everything,  who 
awakenest  the  earth  from  its  wintry  sleep,  breathing  new  life  into 
trees  and  flowers  and  all  that  faded  and  withered  last  year — suffer 
a  human  heart  to  renew  itself;  let  past  deeds  be  destroyed  and 
forgotten.  Suffer  a  child  of  man,  regenerate  and  redeemed,  to 
begin  life  anew.  I  stood  at  the  casement,  while  the  wind  howled 
without.  Suddenly  there  was  a  fearful  crash.  A  tall  oak  before 
my  window  had  been  broken  by  the  angry  wind.  The  tree  top- 
pled and,  in  its  fall,  dashed  a  statue  of  Venus,  which  stood  beneath 
it,  into  fragments.  It  all  seemed  like  a  feverish  dream,  and  when  I 
realized  what  had  happened,  my  only  wish  was  :  O  that  I  had  been 
in  the  statue's  place  !  O  that  I  had  been  dashed  to  atoms —  It 
would  have  been  far  better  for  me. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  tell  you.  I  only  know  that  I  may  again 
be  with  you — perhaps  to-day,  to-morrow,  at  night  or  in  the  day- 
time, I  shall  fall  on  my  knees  to  you  and  you  will  lift  me  up.  I 
shall  rest  on  your  heart,  and  you  will  protect  me.  You  will  save 
me  from  the  demons  ;  you  will  not  question  me  ;  you  will  give  food 
and  drink  and  rest  to-the  stranger  soul,  and  will  not  ask  whence  it 
comes. 

"  What  are  we  ?  What  is  the  world  ?  We  see  and  know  all, 
and  yet — 

"  How  ingenious  the  devices  with  which  the  world  lulls  its  con- 
science into  slumber —  If  there  were  only  no  awakening  !  The 
awakening — the  morrow — that  is  the  most  terrible  thought  of  all. 

"  An  eternal  kiss  rests  upon  a  statue  at  the  arsenal,  and  the  stars, 
the  moon  and  the  sun  look  down  upon  it.  If  I  could  but  climb 
up  there,  hurl  myself  to  the  earth  and  destroy  myself— the  world — 
everything  ! 

"  Should  you  hear  the  bells  tolling  loudly,  know  that  it  is  my 
funeral.  If  there  be  a  gentle  knock  at  your  door,  think  that  it  is  a 
poor  soul  that  was  once  so  rich — might  still  be — aye,  is.  Who 
can  restore  a  human  being  to  himself?  Who  draws  him  out  of 
the  lake — out  of  the  lake — 

"  Why  is  it  that  the  lake  is  constantly  before  my  eyes  ?  I  see 
myself  in  it— I  sink  !  Help  me  !  Save  me,  Emma  !  Help  me,  I 
sink — ! " 

Irma  suddenly  uttered  a  loud  shriek.  The  maid  hurried  into  the 
room.  Her  mistress  had  fainted  and  lay  on  the  floor. 

When  she  revived,  she  asked  what  had  happened  to  her.  Doctor 
Gunther  sat  at  her  bedside  and  said  : 

"  You  Ve  been  writing ;  here  is  the  letter.     I  took  charge  of  it, 

as  I  supposed  it  was  this  that  had  so  excited  you.     I  read  the  first 

six  lines.     I  was  obliged  to,  but  I  assure  you,  on  my  honor,  that  I 

did  not  read  a  word  more.     I  took  charge  of  the  letter,  so  that  no 

ii 


242  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

other  eye  should  see  it.  And  now,  keep  yourself  quiet ;  here  it 
is." 

Irma  sat  up  and  read  the  letter.  Then  she  looked  at  the  Doctor 
earnestly,  and  said : 

"  I  believe  you." 

She  called  for  a  light  and  consigned  the  letter  to  the  flames. 

"  Will  you  promise  me  one  thing  ?  " 

"What  is  it?  " 

"That  you  will  give  me  poison,  if  I  lose  my  mind." 

"You  are  playing  with  extremes,"  replied  the  physician,  "and 
lhat  can't  be  done  with  impunity." 

After  a  long  pause,  Gunther  said  : 

"Above  all  things,  you  must  control  yourself,  and  must  not 
imagine  that  these  wild,  wandering  thoughts  are  your  true  self.  I 
thought  that  you  would  take  my  advice,  but  I  was  mistaken.  You 
are  your  best,  your  only,  physician  ;  force  yourself  to  rest  and  let 
calm  and  happy  thoughts  alone  engage  you." 

Irma  rested  her  head  on  her  hand.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  fever- 
ish fire.  She  closed  them,  but  suddenly  arose  and,  seizing  her 
loosened  hair  with  both  hands,  exclaimed  : 

"  I  will  have  my  hair  cut  off." 

"That  is  another  of  your  wild  thoughts,"  said  Gunther,  calming 
her,  and  taking  her  hand  in  his.  "  You  always  wish  to  accomplish 
your  desires  by  violent  methods.  You  must  acquire  repose." 

"Yes,  life  is  a  slow  and  gradual  growth,  and  death,  yes,  death 
in  life,  takes  but  a  moment,"  said  Irma,  with  a  wrild  and  vacant 
stare. 

"  And  now  go  to  sleep,  and  you  will  soon  be  well  again,"  said  Gun- 
ther. He  was  about  to  leave,  but  Irma  detained  him,  and  en- 
quired : 

"  How  is  your  wife — your  family  ?  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  he.     "They  are  calm  and  resigned.1' 

Irma  was  about  to  beg  that  Gunther's  wife  might  visit  her,  but 
could  not  force  herself  to  do  so.  Gunther  left.  He,  himself, 
thought  that  if  Irma  would  frankly  open  her  mind  to  his  wife,  the 
good  sense  of  the  latter  would  gradually  help  the  distracted  one. 
But  he  knew  that  his  wife  would  not  visit  Irma.  With  all  her  kind- 
ness of  heart,  she  had  no  mercy  for  arrogance,  and  Irma,  in  her 
prosperous  days,  had  neglected  to  revisit  the  house  in  which  she 
had  received  so  hearty  a  welcome.  Ever  since  Irma  had  again  left 
her  father  and  returned  to  court,  its  doors  were  closed  to  her. 
Irma,  moreover,  was  regarded  as  having  promoted  the  revival  of 
the  convents  and  the  appointment  of  the  reactionary  ecclesiastical 
ministry  of  which  Schnabelsdorf  was  premier. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  243 

,       CHAPTER  XIII. 

WALPURGA'S  thoughts  were  of  home,  and  she  tried  to  pic- 
ture to  herself  how  it  would  be  when  her  letter  arrived  there. 
But  she  had  been  away  so  long  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  do  so. 
The  letter  had  arrived  at  dusk,  and  Hansei,  who  was  out  in  the 
backyard,  chopping  wood,  was  called  in.  He  hurriedly  lit  the 
lamp,  and  Stasi  read  the  letter  to  them.  The  grandmother  wept, 
and  the  child  on  her  lap  moved  about  restlessly,  as  if  it  felt  that  the 
words  it  heard  were  its  mother's.  Nor  could  they  help  noticing 
that  it  had  twice  pulled  the  letter  out  of  Stasi's  hand,  arid  that,  in 
order  to  finish  reading  it,  she  had  been  obliged  to  move  her  seat. 
The  child  had,  nevertheless,  remained  restless  as  before.  At  last, 
the  grandmother  dried  her  tears  and  said :  "  Thank  God,  that  I 
have  such  a  child.  I  do  n't  mean  you,"  said  she  to  her  grand- 
daughter, "  I  mean  your  mother.  You  may  be  glad  if  you  turn 
out  as  good  as  she  is."  Hansei  listened  with  mouth  agape,  and 
smiled  all  over  his  face  when  they  came  to  the  passage  about  Wal- 
purga's  embracing  him. 

When  she  had  finished  the  letter,  Stasi  said  : 

"  It 's  a  sad  letter  for  all ;  but  she  '11  be  so  much  the  happier 
when  she  gets  home  again.  I  'm  only  sorry  that  I  shan't  meet  her 
when  she  does  come." 

Stasi  was  to  be  married  on  the  following  Sunday,  to  a  forest- 
keeper  who  lived  near  the  frontier,  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain. 

Hansei  took  the  letter  again  and  was  about  to  go  away. 

"  Leave  the  letter  here,"  whispered  the  mother  to  him.  "  That 's 
not  the  sort  of  a  letter  to  read  aloud  at  the  Chamois.  There  are 
things  in  it  which  only  man  and  wife  ought  to  tell  each  other  when 
they  're  alone." 

"Yes,  you're  right,"  said  Hansei.  "Here's  the  letter."  He 
was,  nevertheless,  sorry  that  the  folks  would  not  be  able  to  see 
what  a  pretty  letter  his  wife  could  write,  and  how  much  she  loved 
him,  and  how  good  she  was,  and  that  none  in  the  whole  village 
deserved  to  be  spoken  to  by  her,  for  his  Walpurga  was  the  pride 
of  his  life. 

"Yes,  grandmother,"  said  he,  while  he  stood  in  the  doorway, 
"  thank  God,  the  longest  time  's  over.  I  can  hardly  understand 
how  we  managed  to  live  without  each  other  so  long,  or  how  it  '11 
be  when  she  sits  in  this  low  room  again.  But  that  '11  be  all  right, 
and  there  are  other  houses  besides  this." 

Hansei  spoke  these  last  words  quite  rapidly.  He  wanted  his 
mother-in-law  to  understand  that  he  was  about  to  purchase  a 
house.  It  was  proper  that  she  should  know  of  it,  but  there  was 
no  need  of  her  interference,  lest  she  should  rule  him.  The  inn- 
keeper 'vas  quite  in  the  right. 


244  O-V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Hansei  could  hardly  wait  until  he  was  again  with  his  privy 
counselor,  and  this  privy  counselor  was,  of  course,  the  innkeeper. 
He  looked  up  at  the  house  and  the  trees,  as  if  to  say:  "Just  keep 
still,  and  do  n't  be  afraid.  She  '11  come  back  again  in  good  time, 
and  she  still  thinks  of  you  all.  She  knows  many  a  thing,  and 
would  make  a  better  queen  than  many  another  woman,  and  coul  .1 
reign  better  than  the  strongest  man — "  When  Hansei  arrived  in 
front  of  the  inn,  he  waited  for  a  little  while,  in  order  to  get  his 
breath,  and  compose  himself.  It  is  no  light  matter  to  have  such 
an  extraordinary  wife  ;  one  is  very  apt  to  be  thrown  into  the  back- 
ground and  to  be  less  thought  of.  He  was  proud  of  his  wife,  but 
he  was  the  husband,  nevertheless.  He  went  into  the  inn  quietly, 
and  sat  down  to  a  schoppen  of  wine,  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

"  That 's  the  way  a  man  should  be,"  thought  he  to  himself,  while 
he  took  a  comfortable  draught.  "  It  won't  do  to  tell  the  world 
everything.  Keep  things  to  yourself.  That  makes  the  master ;  and 
that  's  what  the  women  can't  do." 

Hansei  patted  Dachsel  and  Wachsel,  the  landlord's  two  dogs, 
who  seemed  to  be  fond  of  him,  for  they  knew  their  master's  fa- 
vorites. 

"  Is  it  long  since  you  've  heard  from  your  queen  ?  "  asked  the 
host,  casually. 

"  Xo.     Only  to-day." 

"What  does  she  say?  " 

"All  sorts  of  things,"  said  Hansei,  discreetly,  adding,  in  a  care- 
less manner,  "  I  want  to  ask  your  advice  about  something  pres- 
ently." 

The  other  guests  looked  up  in  surprise,  to  find  Hansei  the 
woodcutter  addressing  the  innkeeper  in  this  familiar  tone,  and 
were  none  the  less  astonished  that  the  latter  did  not  object. 

"  If  you  've  got  more  paper  money,  it  would  be  quite  convenient," 
replied  the  innkeeper. 

"  I  've  none  this  time,  but  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  another 
matter." 

The  host  went  into  the  back  room,  sent  his  wife  out  to  wait  on 
the  guests,  and  exclaimed  :  "Come  in,  Hansei."  A  secret  council 
was  held  in  the  back  room. 

Hansei  told  him  that  his  wife  would  return  in  seven  weeks  from 
yesterday,  that  she  had  written  to  him  to  come  for  her,  and  that, 
while  he  knew  how  to  carry  himself  in  the  world — 

"Yes,  that  you  do,"  said  the  host,  "it  was  only  yesterday  that 
the  chief  forester — he  was  sitting  in  the  very  seat  you  're  in,  now — 
said  :  'That  Hansei 's  a  sharp  fellow  '." 

Hansei  smiled  his  thanks  for  the  compliment.  "  But  I  want  to 
ask  you  about  something." 

"What  is  it?" 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  245 

"  Look  here.  You  're  so  much — how  shall  I  say  it  ? — so  much 
readier  with  your  mouth,  and  more  mannerly  than  I  am,  and  if  I 
have  to  go  to  the  capital  and  stand  up  before  the  king  and  queen 
and  all  the  grand  gentlemen,  why — why — why,  look  here,  when- 
ever I  think  of  it,  even  now,  it  chokes  me,  and  my  opinion  is  that 
you  'd  better  go  along  as  my  mouthpiece  and  say  everything  pro- 
perly. One  does  n't  have  such  a  chance  more  than  once  in  a  life- 
time, and  it  won't  do  to  forget  anything." 

"That  's  a  clever  thought  of  yours,"  said  the  innkeeper. 

"  You  shan't  do  it  for  nothing  and  the  journey  shan't  cost  you  a 
groschen." 

"  No,  I  can't  go  with  you.  At  court,  it  won't  do  to  say  :  '  This 
is  my  child's  godfather,  my  comrade,  and  he  's  to  come  in,  too, 
and  speak  for  me.'  The  one  who  has  the  audience  is  the  only  one 
who  's  allowed  to  speak.  If  you  want  to  have  a  little  fun,  and  your 
wife  's  agreed,  I  might  go  as  Walpurga's  husband — that  would  do." 

"No,"  cried  Hansei,  "I  won't  do  any  such  thing,  and  my  wife 
would  n't,  either.  That  won't  do  at  all." 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  all  that  remains  is  to  go  and  speak  for 
yourself." 

Hansei  was  sad.  He  felt  as  if  thrust  out  of  doors.  He  had  not 
been  brought  up  and  schooled  for  such  things  as  talking  to  the 
king  and  queen  and  their  courtiers,  and  was  afraid  of  what  he  might 
do  to  them  if  they  were  to  laugh  at  and  ridicule  him,  for  he 
would  n't  stand  that.  He  would  allow  no  one  to  make  sport  of 
him,  in  his  wife's  presence,  for  he  was  the  husband  and  she  only 
the  wife. 

"  Do  n't  be  so  faint-hearted — a  man  like  you — "  said  the  inkeeper, 
consolingly,  while  Hansei  rubbed  his  forehead  as  if  to  make  another 
head  out  of  his  own.  "Just  pretend  I  was  the  king.  What  would 
you  say?  " 

"You  speak  first." 

"All  right."  The  innkeeper  placed  himself  in  position,  put  his 
hand  in-  the  breast  of  his  coat,  balanced  himself  on  one  foot,  threw 
his  head  back,  and  said  gravely : 

"  Ah,  and  so  you  're  the  husband  of — ah,  what 's  her  name — of 
Walpurga?  " 

"Yes,  she  's  my  wife." 

"  Have  you  been  a  soldier  ?  " 

"  No,  by  your  leave." 

"You  needn't  say 'by  your  leave,' but  you  must  add  Youi 
Majesty,'  and  always  as  short  as  possible.  The  high  folk  never 
have  any  time  to  spare  ;  they  're  always  in  a  hurry  and  everything 
is  counted  out  to  the  very  minute.  But  what 's  the  use  of  worry- 
ing ourselves  already  ?  We  'd  better  settle  our  little  business 
no\v.  You  buy  my  house  and  fields.  I  '11  let  you  have  them 
:beap,  and  then  when  the  king  asks  how  it  goes  with  you,  you  car 


246  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

answer  :  'Your  Majesty,  it  would  go  very  well  with  me  ;  but  I  still 
owe  three  thousand  florins  on  my  house  and  farm  and  they  trouble 
me  greatly.'  And  when  you  say  that,  you  '11  see  trmt  the  king  will 
give  you  the  three  thousand  florins  at  once.  But  if  you  did  n't 
owe  it,  you  could  n't  say  it.  I  know  you.  You  're  an  honest  fellow 
and  can't  tell  a  lie,  and  you  know  you  might  just  as  well  say  four 
thousand,  or  five  thousand — it 's  all  the  same — and  you  '11  have 
some  money  over  to  build  with.  But  there  's  no  need  of  that,  and 
so  you  can  lay  in  a  stock  of  wine  instead." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  're  right,  but  I  think  we  '11  make  it  a  sham  sale,  for 
I  ought  n't  do  it  without  my  wife's  consent.  The  money  really 
comes  from  her,  and  I  do  n't  even  know  whether  she  's  willing  to 
have  the  inn.  We  '11  just  make  it  a  sham  sale,  and,  if  the  king 
gives  me  the  money  and  my  wife  's  agreed,  it  '11  be  all  right." 

The  host  had,  before  that,  flattered  Hansei  on  account  of  his 
cleverness,  but  now,  when  there  was  real  occasion  for  his  doing  so, 
held  his  peace.  After  a  pause,  he  said  :  "  While  the  clever  fellow 
makes  up  his  mind,  the  fool  has  time  to  make  up  his.  I  '11  think 
about  it." 

They  returned  to  the  inn-parlor.  Hansei  felt  ill  at  ease  and  soon 
went  home.  On  the  way,  old  Zenza  greeted  him.  He  made  be- 
lieve that  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  her,  and  hurried  on.  How  glad 
he  was  that  he  had  not  become  wicked,  and  how  would  he  have 
felt  now,  if  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  tempted.  Nothing  would 
have  been  left  him  but  to  drown  himself  in  the  lake  before  Wal- 
purga's  return. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  said  to  himself:  "I  can  still  enter 
here  with  a  good  conscience  and,  God  be  praised,  I  can  bid  her 
welcome  with  a  good  conscience."  After  he  got  into  bed,  he  kept 
on  repeating  the  words  :  "God  be  praised,"  to  himself,  until  he  at 
last  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke,  the  first  thing  he  said  was: 
"Good  morning,  Walpurga."  He  addressed  his  words  to  the 
empty  air,  but  he  felt  as  if  she  must  hear  him,  as  if  she  were  at 
home  already,  for  she  had  sent  so  good  a  messenger  in  advance. 
The  letter  was  like  a  postilion  playing  welcome  melodies.  Hansei 
lay  there  dreaming,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  until  late  in  the  day. 
But  the  day  was  both  a  good  and  an  evil  one.  He  had  promised 
his  comrades  to  go  out  hunting  with  them.  All  at  once,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  was  time  to  give  up  such  sport.  He  would 
gladly  have  remained  at  home,  but  feared  the  talk  of  the  innkeeper 
and,  though  the  hills  were  far  away,  he  felt  as  if  he  could  distinctly 
hear  the  innkeeper  telling  his  comrades:  "Ha!  Ha!  His  wife's 
coming  home,  and  she  's  the  master,  and  Hansei  will  have  to  lie 
down  as  she  bids  him."  He  fancied  that  he  heard  his  laughing 
comrades  walking  about  in  the  woods  and  calling  out:  "Lie 
down,  Hansei ;  lie  down,"  as  if  he  were  a  dog. 

An  advocate  at  the  provincial  court, — for  Hansei  now  had  such 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  247 

distinguished  companions — was  also  with  the  hunting-  party,  and 
would  laugh  and  jeer  more  than  any  of  them.  And  then,  to  add 
to  the  fun,  the  innkeeper  would  tell  a  fine  story  about  the  letter. 
Thank  God,  he  had  n't  had  a  chance  to  read  it.  That  would  have 
been  too  bad.  If  I  only  had  n't  mentioned  it ;  but  I  'm  too  stupid 
and  can't  keep  a  thing  to  myself.  If  the  innkeeper  knew  nothing 
of  the  letter,  I  could  turn  back  without  feeling  ashamed  and  with- 
out minding  their  jeers.  But  my  mind  's  made  up.  I  shan't  go 
with  them  again.  I  used  to  get  along  by  myself,  and  I  will  again, 
when  she  comes  back.  We  '11  need  no  one,  then.  Hansei  was 
busy  thinking,  that  morning.  He  looked  back  upon  how  he  had 
been  living  all  this  time.  He  felt  so  homesick  about  his  wife  at 
first,  that  he  could  not  remain  in  the  house  and  was  unable  to  eat, 
drink,  sleep,  or  work.  So  he  went  to  the  inn,  where  they  wished 
him  joy  because  his  wife  had  brought  him  such  good  luck,  and 
this  had  pleased  him ;  and  when  others  stopped  talking  about  it, 
he  would  renew  the  subject ;  and  the  innkeeper  would  take  him 
along  to  fairs,  target-shootings  and  pleasure-parties.  One  could 
not  help  but  admit  it  was  all  very  pleasant  and  entertaining,  and 
the  folks  would  say :  "  There  goes  Hansei,  whose  wife  is  the  crown 
prince's  nurse."  Wherever  he  went  they  showed  him  great  re- 
spect, and  it 's  very  pleasant  to  be  received  with  respect  wherever 
you  go.  Before  allowing  him  to  sit  down,  the  hostess  would 
always  wipe  off  the  chair  with  her  apron,  and  considered  it  a 
pleasure  to  do  so.  At  last,  a  happy  thought  occurred  to  him,  and 
he  still  held  fast  to  it.  He  would  be  the  very  man  to  keep  an  inn, 
and  his  wife  would  be  the  best  hostess  from  one  end  of  the  land 
to  the  other.  She  would  know  how  to  talk  to  the  people ;  and, 
after  all,  what  is  there  pleasanter  in  the  world  than  keeping  an  inn  ? 

Hansei  was  so  long  in  getting  up,  that  the  grandmother  came  to 
the  door  and  asked  :  "  Is  anything  the  matter?  Are  you  sick?  " 

"Oh  no,  God  forbid.  I  'm  coming  directly,"  replied  Hansei. 
He  soon  came  and,  in  a  kindly  tone,  said :  "  Good  morning.  Is 
the  child  hearty?  " 

"  Yes.  All  's  well,  thank  God,"  said  the  grandmother.  She 
was  always  the  same,  whether  Hansei  was  rude  and  taciturn,  or 
talkative  and  confidential. 

During  her  daughter's  absence,  she  had  never  interfered  with 
him  but  once,  and  then  she  had  said :  "You  're  the  husband  and 
the  father,  and  should  know  what  to  do,  and  what  to  let  alone." 
She  knew  very  well  that  if  she  attempted  to  induce  Hansei  to  give 
up  his  free  life  and  his  comrades,  he  would  be  less  likely  to  do  so, 
if  it  were  only  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  being  ruled  by  the  old 
woman. 

"  Will  you  be  at  home  at  noon,  or  are  you  going  across  the 
field  ?  " 

"  I  '11  stay  at  home,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  split  wood.    We  '11 


248  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

clear  up  things  and  make  it  look  tidy  about  the  house,  by  the  time 
she  returns." 

The  grandmother  nodded  a  pleased  assent.  Hansei  would 
gladly  have  said  more,  but  he  always  thought  that  another  ought 
to  speak  first,  and  so  he  sat  there,  stuffing  potato  after  potato  into 
his  mouth,  just  as  if  every  one  were  an  answer  he  had  received. 
With  every  potato  that  he  pared,  he  thought  of  the  clever  things 
he  would  say  to  the  king.  He  felt  that  the  latter  could  not  escape 
him.  Six  thousand  florins  could  be  counted  on  ;  and  of  five  thou- 
sand he  felt  quite  sure. 

"If  the  king  gives  us  a  good  farm  on  a  royal  estate,  or  any  other 
appointment,  we  '11  move  away  from  here,"  said  Hansei  aloud. 
He  thought  that  the  grandmother  must  know  that  he  would  gladly 
break  loose  from  his  comrades  and  begin  a  changed  life,  elsewhere. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  was  all  that  the  grandmother  said. 

"  I  think  we  must  soon  write  an  answer,  and  I  '11  write  to  her, 
too.  She  seems  so  very  sad." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  do  so.     I  must  go  to  the  child." 

In  promising  to  write  to  his  wife,  Hansei  had  imposed  a  difficult 
task  upon  himself.  He  would  have  liked  to  write  kind,  consoling, 
hearty  words ;  to  have  cautioned  her  not  to  worry  so  much 
about  the  few  weeks  that  still  remained,  and  thus,  perhaps,  lose 
sight  of  what  advantages  might  present  themselves.  Now  was 
the  time  to  be  in  good  spirits,  for  pay-day  was  fast  approaching. 
He  had  all  these  thoughts  in  his  head,  and  she  would  respect  him 
for  the  manly  advice  he  was  about  to  offer.  But  to  get  these  ideas 
out  of  his  head  and  on  paper,  was  a  difficult  task. 

Consoling  himself  with  the  words :  "  There  's  no  need  of  my 
writing.  I  '11  see  her  soon,  and  can  tell  her  everything  far  better," 
he  gave  up  the  attempt. 

While  the  grandmother  went  into  the  room  in  which  the  child 
lay,  Hansei  remained  sitting  at  the  table  and  emptied  the  whole 
dish  of  potatoes,  while  he  was,  in  imagination,  explaining  to  the 
king  how  well  he  understood  forest  matters.  When  the  last  potato 
was  eaten,  he  went  out,  took  axe,  mallet  and  wedge  and,  with 
mighty  strokes,  split  the  stump*  which  had  been  piled  up  along 
the  road  in  front  of  the  garden.  He  had  just  taken  off  his  coat, 
for,  in  spite  of  the  keen  spring  breeze,  he  did  n't  feel  cold,  when  a 
voice  said  :  "Ah,  you  're  still  here."  The  innkeeper  stood  behind 
him  with  his  rifle  slung  over  his  shoulder  and  accompanied  by  his 
two  dogs,  Dachsel  and  Wachsel.  "You  must  have  overslept 
yourself,  just  as  I  did.  If  we  take  the  road  through  the  valley  and 
the  ravine,  we  can  still  catch  up  with  our  comrades.  Come,  hurry 
ind  dress  yourself,  and  get  your  gun." 

As  if  this  were  a  command  which  he  must  obey,  Hansei  carried 
axe,  mallet  and  wedge  into  the  house,  dressed  himself,  took  his 
gun  and  said  to  the  grandmother:  "I  think  I  '11  go  along,  after 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  249 

all."  He  would  have  liked  to  say:  "I  shall  only  go  this  once,  so 
that  they  do  n't  think  that  I  stay  at  home  on  account  of  my  wife's 
letter,"  but  he  held  his  peace.  It  isn't  necessary  to  tell  every- 
thing", and  those  to  whom  you  do  tell  all,  have  a  right  to  interfere 
in  ail.  I  want  to  arrange  everything  myself,  and  she  must  respect 
me  for  doing  it. 

Hansei  accompanied  the  innkeeper  to  the  hunt.  He  was  in  a 
good  humor  and  more  cheerful  than  ever. 

CHAPTER     XIV. 

"  How  was  it  once  ?     How  will  it  be  ?  " 
I  prithee,  darling,  ask  not  me. 
Our  life's  the  Present — hold  it  fast, 
And  let  each  hour  in  joy  be  passed. 

Lift  up  thine  eyes,  so  bright  and  clear ; 
To  search  my  heart,  thou  need'st  not  fear. 
Come,  let  us  gather  Flora's  sweets, 
Ere  wintry  storm  around  us  beats. 

THUS  sang  Irma,  with  clear,  ringing  voice.     Nature  was  again 
decked  in  beauteous  array.     The  sharp  winds  of  early  spring 
were  still  blowing,  and  the  sunlight  was  often  suddenly  obscured 
by  floating  snow-clouds.     But  the  grass  had  begun  to  grow  in  the 
meadows,  and  here  and  there  spring  flowers  were  blooming. 

Irma  had  recovered,  after  a  few  days.  The  bulletins  respecting 
the  queen's  health  had  ceased,  and  Gunther,  who  had  lived  in  the 
palace  for  weeks,  now  returned  to  his  own  house. 

The  queen,  who  was  now  permitted  to  leave  her  apartment, 
spent  much  of  her  time  in  the  winter-garden,  where  the  last  fete 
had  been  celebrated.  The  trees  and  flowers  were  again  in  their 
wonted  places ;  the  fountains  plashed,  the  fish  swam  about  in  the 
marble  basin,  and  the  birds  twittered  in  their  great  cages.  Walpurga 
and  the  prince  were  allowed  to  remain  with  the  queen  for  hours  at 
a  time.  All  vied  with  each  other  in  offering  her  delicate  attentions 
which  were  inspired  by  something  more  than  a  mere  sense  of  what 
was  due  her  rank.  Irma  had  shown  so  much  devotion  to  the 
queen  that  the  latter  felt  like  begging  her  pardon.  She  often  had 
the  words  upon  her  lips,  but  could  not  utter  them.  Friendship 
suffers  from  mere  suspicion,  and  the  queen  well  knew  that  she  was 
looked  upon  as  weak-minded  and  vacillating.  She  determined 
that  she  would  be  thus  no  longer.  She  felt  that  the  great  mark\\ 
of  a  strong  character  is  to  prevent  the  world  from  knowing  every  \\ 
chang'e  and  phase  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  to  give  it  naught  |A 
but  results. 

No  one  should  ever  know  what  had  so  troubled  her  heart.     She 
ttoulc1  be  strong. 

She  kept  Irma  about  her  much  of  the  time,  and  the  hours  they 


jj 


250  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

spent  in  the  green,  flowering,  winter-garden,  reading,  working, 
conversing  cr  singing,  were  serene  antl  blissful. 

Irma,  who  was  an  excellent  reader,  read  Goethe's  Tasso  to 
them.  It  accorded  with  their  present  mood,  and  one  day,  Irma 
said  : 

"  Your  Majesty  resembles  Princess  Leonora  in  many  things. 
You  have  the  advantage,  however,  of  being  able  to  accomplish  in 
<  few  weeks  what,  in  her  case,  it  required  years  to  bring  about." 

"  I  do  n't  understand  you." 

"What  I  mean  is,  that  long  confinement  to  the  sick-room  and 
careful  nursing  are  apt  to  produce,  in  the  invalid,  a  certain  sensi- 
tiveness and  an  almost  imperceptible  change  in  manner.  It  is 
well  to  escape  from  this  hot-house  mood  into  the  open  air ;  to  be 
once  again  among  the  trees  which  are  proof  against  all  weathers, 
and  to  inhale  the  fresh,  life-giving  breeze." 

The  king  was  often  present  during  these  readings,  and  frequently 
felt  moved  to  express  his  thoughts  on  the  weightiest  and  most 
beautiful  passages  in  Tasso.  Irma  often  trembled.  Ever}'  word 
she  uttered  seemed  wicked.  She  felt  that  she  no  longer  had  a 
right  to  speak  of  pure  and  holy  subjects,  but  the  king  was  so 
cheerful  and  unconstrained  that  she  speedily  dismissed  all  concern. 

"You  are  spoiling  me,  and  will  make  me  quite  vain,"  said  the 
queen,  one  day.  "  I  have  another  wish.  I  long  to  go  from 
flowers  to  works  of  art.  I  often  feel  like  visiting  the  picture-gallery 
and  the  collection  of  antiques.  When  we  move  among  the  achieve- 
ments of  art,  the  deepest  impression  we  receive  is,  that  human 
beings  who  lived  long  ago,  have  bequeathed  their  best  possessions 
to  us,  and  that  eyes  long  since  closed  in  death,  look  down  upon  us 
with  their  undying  glances,  and  are  still  with  us." 

At  the  words  "undying  glances,"  the^dng  and  Irma  looked  at 
each  other  with  involuntary  surprise.  To  them,  the  words  were 
suggestive.  Irma  composed  herself  and  replied  : 

"  I  cannot  help  joining  in  Your  Majesty's  wash :  from  flowers 
and  trees  to  works  of  art !  Surrounded  by  pictures  and  statues, 
the  soul  dwells  in  an  ideal  atmosphere;  life  everlasting  environs 
us  ;  we  inhale  the  very  breath  of  genius  which,  although  its  pos- 
sessors may  have  vanished  from  earth,  endures  for  ever.  When  I 
was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  without  real  artistic  talent, 
I  envied  the  monarchs  to  whom  is  vouchsafed  the  happiness  of 
encouraging  talent  and  genius  in  others.  That  is  a  great  compen- 
sation." 

"  How  beautifully  she  interprets  everything,"  said  the  queen, 
addressing  her  husband  ;  and  it  was  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
delight  and  pain  that  the  king  regarded  the  two  ladies.  What  was 
passing  in  his  mind?  He  admired  and  loved  Irma;  he  respected 
and  loved  his  wife.  He  was  untrue  to  both. 

Irma  and  the  queen  went  through  the  galleries  and  the  collection 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  251 

of  antiques,  and  would  sit  for  hours,  looking  at  the  pictures  and 
statues.  Every  remark  of  the  queen's  was  met  by  an  observation 
of  Irma's,  which  was  in  full  accord  with  hers. 

"When  I  look  at  and  listen  to  you  two,"  said  the  king,  "and 
think  of  where  you  resemble  each  other  and  where  you  differ,  it 
seems  as  if  I  saw  the  daughters  of  Schiller  and  Goethe  before  me." 

"  How  singular  !"  interposed  the  queen,  and  the  king  continued  : 

"Goethe  saw  the  world  through  brown,  and  Schiller  through 
blue  eyes  ;  and  so  it  is  with  you  two.  You  look  through  blue 
eyes,  like  Schiller's,  and  our  friend  through  brown  eyes,  like  those 
of  Goethe's." 

"  It  won't  do  to  let  any  one  know  that  we  flatter  each  other  so," 
said  the  queen,  smiling.  Irma  looked  up  to  the  ceiling,  vhere 
painted  angels  were  hovering  in  the  air.  There  is  a  world  of  in- 
finite space  where  no  one  can  supplant  another ;  it  is  only  in  the 
everyday  world  that  exclusiveness  exists,  thought  she  to  herself. 

The  more  the  queen  gained  in  strength,  the  more  marked  was 
the  change  from  a  subdued,  to  a  bright  and  cheerful  vein. 

It  seemed  as  if  Irma's  wish  was  about  to  be  realized.  .The  life- 
renewing  power  of  spring  which  reanimates  the  trees  and  the  plants, 
seemed  to  extend  its  influence  over  human  life.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  past  were  buried  and  forgotten. 

It  was  on  the  first  mild  day  of  spring,  and  they  were  walking  to- 
gether in  the  palace-garden,  when  the  queen  said : 

"  I  can't  imagine  that  there  ever  was  a  time  when  we  did  not 
know  each  other,  dear  Irma."  She  stopped  and  looked  into  Irma's 
eyes  with  an  expression  radiant  with  joy.  "  You  once  told  me 
about  a  Greek  philosopher,"  said  she,  addressing  Doctor  Gunther, 
who  was  walking  after  them  with  the  captain  of  the  palace-guard, 
"who  thought  that  our  souls  had  a  previous  existence,  and  that 
our  best  experience,  in  this  world,  is  merely  the  recollection  of  what 
we  have  experienced  or  imagined  to  ourselves  in  some  earlier  state 
of  being." 

"Without  accepting  this  fanciful  theory,"  replied  Gunther, 
"  there  is  much  in  life  which  may  be  regarded  as  destiny.  I  believe 
that  all  living  truths  which  we  take  up  into  ourselves,  and  which 
thus,  as  it  were,  become  a  part  of  our  being,  were  intended  for  us. 
Our  mind,  the  whole  constitution  of  our  being,  is  destined  for  and 
attuned  to  it.  There  is  thus  perfect  correspondence  between  our 
destiny  and  our  capacity.  But  I  beg  Your  Majesty  to  regard  your- 
self as  destined,  at  present,  to  step  into  your  carriage.  We  must 
not  let  the  first  walk  be  too  long." 

The  queen  and  Irma  seated  themselves  in  the  carriage  which 
awaited  them  at  the  Nymph's  Grove.  They  drove  on  slowly,  and 
the  queen  sale : 

"  You  cannot  imagine,  dear  Irma,  how  timid  and  fearful  I  was 
.vhen  I  first  came  here."  She  told  her  how  she  had  looked  into 


252  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  eyes  of  the  multitude  that  surrounded  her,  and  had  asked 
herself:  "  Who  of  all  these  does,  in  truth,  belong  to  you  ?  "  and  how 
encouraged  she  had  felt  when  Irma  spoke  to  her,  as  it  were,  with 
her  warm,  brown  eyes. 

"And  they  were  speaking  to  you,"  replied  Irma.  "I  should 
have  liked  to  say  to  you :  '  Sweet  being !  imagine  that  we  have 
known  each  other  for  years  and  feel  just  as  if  we  had  been  friends 
forever.'  I  fancy  that  we  both  felt  thus  because  we  were  both 
timid  and  fearful.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  at  court, 
and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  n't  help  taking  the  lord  steward's  staff  out  of 
his  hand,  and  supporting  myself  on  it." 

"  How  strange  !  I  had  the  very  same  thought,"  said  the  queen, 
"and,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  can  still  recollect  that  the  lord 
steward  looked  at  me  incessantly." 

The  affection  of  the  two  ladies  was  cemented  by  a  hundred 
little  memories.  The  carriage  drove  on  slowly,  but  their  thoughts 
took  in  days  and  months.  There  was  a  turn  in  the  road  ;  they  had 
just  reached  the  place  where  the  statue  had  been  shattered. 

"  It  was  a  terrible  night,"  said  the  queen,  "when  that  happened, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  simple-minded  Walpurga  is  right  when 
she  says  that  it  is  wrong  for  us  thus  to  expose  the  undraped  human 
figure." 

"  I  must  be  permitted  to  differ  with  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Irma. 
"The  free — why  should  we  mince  words? — the  nude,  beautiful 
human  form  is  the  only  one  in  accord  with  free  nature.  All  frip- 
pery is  subject  to  changes  of  taste  and  fashion.  The  human  form 
as  shaped  by  the  hand  of  nature,  is  alone  fitted  to  stand  in  her 
temple." 

"  You  are  a  free  soul ;  far  freer  than  I  am,"  said  the  queen. 
They  alighted.  Irma  accompanied  the  queen  to  her  apartments 
and  then  returned  to  her  own.  When  she  found  herself  alone, 
she  threw  up  her  hands,  exclaiming : 

"What  is  the  greatest  punishment?  It  is  not  hell,  where  other 
guilty  ones  suffer  with  us  !  No ;  to  be  conscious  of  guilt  and  yet 
condemned  to  remain  beside  a  pure  and  happy  creature  ;  that  is  far 
worse  than  all  the  torments  of  hell !  " 

"  God  keep  you,  Irma  !  God  keep  you  !  "  shrieked  the  parrot. 
Inn  a  started  with  a  shudder. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

SPRING  returned,  ushered  in  by  the  merry  singing  of  larks  and 
finches,  and  bringing  with  it  the  latest' Paris  fashions.     The 
queen  now  appeared  in  public,  and  the  ladies  of  the  capital  were 
delighted  to  pattern  their  costumes  after  hers. 

The  queen  drove  out,  with  Irma  beside  her,  and  Walpurga  and 
the  prince  opposite. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  253 

"You  must  not  worry  when  you  're  at  home  again,"  said  the 
queen  to  Walpurga. 

Addressing  the  queen  in  French,  Irma  said,  with  a  smile : 
"Countess  Brinkenstein  would  disapprove  of  your  manifesting  any 
interest  in  the  future  fortunes  of  one  whose  term  of  service  is  at  an 
end." 

With  a  degree  of  boldness  that  surprised  her  two  well-wishers,' 
Walpurga  said  :  "There  '11  be  one  advantage  at  any  rate,  for,  at 
home,  they  won't  treat  me  as  if  I  were  deaf  and  dumb." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  they  would  n't,  while  I  was  about,  say  things  that  I  can't 
understand." 

Irma  endeavored  to  pacify  her,  but  without  avail.  Walpurga's 
longing  for  home  had  made  her  exacting  and  dissatisfied.  She 
felt  ill  at  ease  everywhere,  and  felt  sure  that  the  very  people  who 
had  done  so  much  to  humor  and  spoil  her  would  soon  get  along 
without  her.  * 

There  was  another  and  a  deeper  cause  for  her  feeling  annoyed 
when  Irma  spoke  French.  A  youthful-looking  nurse  from  one  of 
the  French  cantons  of  Switzerland  had  become  a  member  of  the 
prince's  household.  She  could  not  understand  a  word  of  German, 
and  that  had  been  the  principal  reason  for  engaging  her.  The 
prince  was  to  speak  French  before  he  acquired  any  other  language. 

Walpurga  and  the  new-comer  were,  as  regarded  each  other,  like 
two  mutes.  Nor  was  she  othenvise  favorably  disposed  towards 
the  tall,  handsome  girl  with  the  French  cap.'  She  was,  indeed, 
quite  jealous  of  her.  What  has  the  foreigner  to  do  with  the  child  ? 
She  was,  at  times,  angry  at  the  child  itself. 

"  You  '11  soon  parlez  vous  so  that  I  shan't  be  able  to  understand 
a  word,"  she  would  say,  when  alone  with  him,  and  would  feel 
quite  angry  ;  and,  the  very  next  minute,  she  would  exclaim  :  "God 
forgive  me  !  How  well  it  is  that  I  '11  soon  be  home  again.  I  can 
count  the  days  on  my  fingers." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  now  told  Walpurga  that  a  chamber  *  had 
been  prepared  for  the  crown  prince. 

"  He  has  rooms  enough  already,"  said  Walpurga. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  was  again  obliged  to  undertake  the  diffi- 
cult task  of  explaining  the  court  custom,  in  such  matters,  to  Wal- 
purga, who  made  her  go  over  the  various  names  again  and  again, 
bhe  would  always  begin  thus:  "The  crown  prince  will  have  an 
&yah— 

"  Ayah  ?  what  sort  of  a  word  's  that  ?  what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  the  prince's  waiting-maid.  And  when  his  royal  high- 
ness becomes  four  years  old,  he  will  have  a  new  set  of  officers ; 

*  Kammer — meaning  here  the  chamberlain  and  other  officers  composing  the  house- 
hold. 


254  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and  so  on.  .is  he  grows  older,  only  the  new  set  will  always  be  of 
higher  rank  than  those  who  precede  them." 

"  Yes.  I  can  easily  understand  it,"  thought  Walpurga;  "new 
people  and  new  palaces,  constant  change ;  how  lucky  that  your 
ryes  and  your  limbs  are  fast  to  you  ;  if  it  was  n't  for  that,  they  'd 
be  getting  you  new  ones  every  year  or  two." 

Walpurga  felt  reassured  when  she  learned  that  Frau  von  Ger- 
loff,  a  lady  of  noble  birth  and,  hitherto,  first  waiting-woman  to  the 
queen,  had  been  appointed  as  ayah  to  the  prince.  Walpurga  had 
known  her  for  a  long  while  and  said  to  her : 

"If  any  one  had  asked  me  who  should  take  charge  of  the  prince, 
you  'd  have  been  my  first  choice.  This  is  only  another  proof  of  the 
queen's  wisdom  and  her  kind  heart.  She  gives  up  her  dearest 
friend  for  the  sake  of  her  son." 

Walpurga  deemed  it  necessary  to  give  Frau  von  Gerloff  various 
directions  as  to  the  management  of  the  prince.  The  good  lady 
listened  to  her  patiently.  When  Walpurga  next  saw  the  queen, 
she  felt  it  necessary  to  express  her  satisfaction  with  the  arrange- 
ments which  had  been  made. 

"  You  'd  have  done  very  well."  said  she  to  Madame  Leoni,  the 
queen's  second  waitingmaid  ;  "  but  our  good  queen  can't  afford  to 
part  with  both  hands  at  once." 

Madame  Leoni  smiled  her  thanks,  although  she  really  felt  morti- 
fied and  thought  that  she  had  been  slighted  because  of  her  being 
a  commoner.  But  the  first  law  of  court  life  is  :  "Take  offense  at 
nothing." 

The  slumbering  infant-prince  had  no  idea  of  the  jealous  feelings 
which  already  played  about  his  cradle. 

By  degrees,  Walpurga  got  her  effects  ready  and,  when  pack- 
ing up  certain  articles,  she  would  say:  "No  one  would  dream 
that  heart's  blood  is  clinging  to  you." 

Doctor  Gunther  had  given  orders  that  Walpurga  should  often 
leave  the  prince  for  awhile,  in  order  that  he  might  gradually  grow 
accustomed  to  her  absence. 

Mademoiselle  Kramer,  who,  during  the  first  few  days  accom- 
panied her  on  her  walks,  found  the  occupation  a  difficult  one,  for 
Walpurga  wanted  to  stop  at  ever}*  shop  window,  and  whenever 
she  saw  men  or  women  whose  costume  resembled  that  worn  at 
her  home,  wanted  to  go  up  to  them  and  enquire  whence  they 
had  come,  and  whether  they  knew  her  husband,  her  child  and 
her  mother.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  soon  wearied  of  the  office 
of  guide,  and  would  sometimes  allow  Walpurga  to  go  out  alone, 
on  which  occasions  she  would  entrust  her  with  her  watch,  so 
that  she  might  return  at  the  proper  time.  Walpurga's  great 
delight  was  to  watch  the  soldiers  parading  at  guard-mounting,  and 
her  route  generally  led  her  beyond  the  city  gates.  She  would  walk 
along  the  highway  that  led  to  her  home.  This  comforted  her 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  255 

and  she  would  often  think  of  how  she  had  felt  when  coming  to  the 
palace  by  that  very  road.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  ages  had  passed 
since  then,  and  it  was  not  without  an  effort,  at  times,  that  she  in- 
duced herself  to  retrace  her  steps.  She  would  often  stand  there 
listening,  and  imagining  that  she  could  hear  her  child's  voice  borne 
on  the  breeze.  Which  child  ?  Her  heart  was  divided  and  she 
hurried  back  to  the  prince.  It  was  well  he  rested  so  quietly  in  t!ie 
arms  of  the  Frenchwoman.  Walpurga,  however,  was  vexed  at 
Ibis  circumstance,  and  laughed  triumphantly  when  he  wanted  to 
be  taken  by  her  as  soon  as  he  noticed  her. 

"Yes,  you're  a  true  soul,"  said  she.  "When  men  are  good, 
they  're  a  great  deal  better  than  women.  Your  other  father,  my 
Hansel,  is  very  good,  too,  and  he  's  coming,  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  you  '11  shake  hands  with  him  when  he  comes, — so." 

Walpurga  observed  that  the  ayah  was  almost  beside  herself  at 
this  mode  of  treating  the  child,  and  that  it  cost  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  an  effort  to  prevent  her  from  putting  a  veto  upon  it ;  but 
this  only  made  Walpurga  the  more  wanton  in  her  mad  pranks  with 
the  prince. 

"  Now  do  n't  forget,"  said  she,  "that  I  gave  you  myself  to  feast 
upon.  The  others  only  give  you  what  comes  from  the  kitchen. 
We  two  are  one,  and  day  after  to-morrow  my  Hansei  will  come, 
and  then  I  '11  go  home,  and  when  you  're  a  big  boy  you  must  come 
and  see  me  ;  and  if  it 's  in  cherry  time,  I  '11  give  you  the  best  cherries. 
And  my  Hansei  will  go  hunting  with  you  and  will  carry  your  gun 
lor  you,  and  you  '11  shoot  a  great  big  stag  and  a  roe,  and  a  cham- 
ois, and  we  '11  roast  them.  I  '11  stick  a  nosegay  on  your  hat,  and 
then  we  '11  row  over  the  lake  together,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  kiss,  and 
then  I  '11  bid  you  good-bye." 

The  child  laughed  heartily,  while  Walpurga  looked  into  his  eyes 
and  spoke  to  him  thus.  Then  it  laid  its  little  head  on  her  cheek, 
and  Walpurga  cried  out : 

"  Mademoiselle  Kramer  !  Mademoiselle  Kramer  !  he  knows 
how  to  kiss  already ;  he  's  kissing  me  now.  Yes,  you  're  the  right 
sort  of  a  man  and  a  king's  son  to  boot ;  they  always  begin  betimes." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  wanted  to  make  known  all  the  love  she  had 
for  the  child  during  the  few  days  that  yet  remained  to  her  at  the 
palace,  and  she  did  this  both  from  affection  and  spite,  for  she 
desired  to  show  the  Frenchwoman  how  very  much  she  and  the 
ch  Id  loved  one  another.  He  would  never  grow  to  love  the  foreigner 
as  much  as  he  loved  Walpurga,  and  then  she  would  sing : 

Standing  by  yon  willow  tree, 
Scarcely  weeping,  thou  dost  see 
My  bark  put  off  from  shore. 

As  long  as  willows  grow, 
As  long  as  waters  ll»\v, 
Thou  'It  see  me  nevermore. 


2$6  aV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

While  she  sang,  the  boy  crowed  and  laughed,  and  Walpurga 
protested  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer,  that  she  would  wager  her  head 
he  understood  everything  already. 

"And  besides,"  said  she,  with  an  angry-  glance  at  the  French- 
woman, "  the  language  that  little  children  speak  is  the  same  all  the 
world  over.  Is  n't  it  so  ?  The  French  do  n't  come  into  the  world 
speaking  gibberish."  Then  she  would  sing  and  dance  about,  and 
kiss  the  child  again.  It  seemed  as  if  she  must  repress  all  her  sad- 
ness, and,  in  one  outburst,  give  vent  to  all  her  joy. 

"You  excite  the  child  too  much;  you  will  do  it  harm,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Kramer,  endeavoring  to  quiet  her. 

"  That  won't  harm  him  ;  he  's  got  the  right  stuff  in  him.  No 
Frenchwoman  can  spoil  him." 

Walpurga  was  in  a  restless  and  contradictory  mood.  She  had 
long  known  that  the  tie  would  be  broken,  and  had  often  wished 
and  hoped  for  that  end.  But  now  when  the  moment  of  separation 
approached,  all  painful  memories  vanished.  She  felt  that  she  could 
never  again  live  alone.  She  would  always  miss  something,  even 
the  trouble  and  excitement;  and,  besides,  everything  had  always 
come  all  right  again.  She  felt  hurt,  moreover,  that  the  others 
seemed  so  indifferent  about  her  leaving  them.  And  the  child — 
why  had  n't  it  sense  enough  to  speak  and  say  :  "  Father  and  mother, 
you  must  n't  do  this  ;  you  must  n't  take  my  Walpurga  away"  ? 

But  now  others  controlled  the  child.  What  would  they  do  with 
him  ?  Why  should  she  no  longer  be  allowed  to  interfere,  and  to 
say  things  should  be  thus  and  so  ?  She  had  nursed  him  from  the 
first  day  of  his  life,  and  they  had  been  together  day  and  night. 
And  how  would  the  days  and  nights  be  when  they  were  no  longer 
together  ? 

When  Walpurga  had  finished  her  supper,  she  held  up  the  empty 
dish  to  the  child  and,  with  a  bitter  tone,  said  : 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?  I  'm  of  no  more  use  now  than  this  empty 
platter." 

Nor  did  she  care  to  sleep.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  lose  a 
minute  of  the  time  that  was  yet  left  her  with  the  child.  Although 
she  did  at  times,  drop  asleep,  she  would  wake  up  in  a  fright ;  for, 
in  her  dream,  she  had  heard  children  crying — one  far  off  by  the 
lake,  and  another  beside  her — and  had  thought  she  was  standing 
between  them,  and  that  she  must  divide  herself:  must  ue  there 
and  here.  And  then,  too,  she  had  heard  the  cow  bellowing,  and 
pulling  at  the  rope,  just  as  it  had  when  fastened  to  the  garden 
hedge.  Walpurga  saw  it  all,  quite  distinctly;  and  the  cow  had 
such  large  eyes,  and  she  could  feel  its  warm  breath  against  her 
face.  Then  she  would  wake  up  and  rub  her  eyes  and  all  would  be 
quiet  again,  and  she  would  know  that  it  was  a  dream. 

It  was  the  day  before  her  departure.  Walpurga  bitterly  regretted 
that  she  had  not  told  Hansei  to  come  sooner.  He  might  have 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  257 

remained  there  a  day,  and  she  would  then  have  had  some  one  ta 
stretch  out  his  hand  in  welcome,  while  now  she  could  only  offej 
hers  in  farewell. 

She  walked  the  streets  and  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky — the 
same  blue  sky  that  rested  over  her  home.  She  went  through  tht 
little  street  in  which  Doctor  Gunther  lived.  She  read  the  name  on 
the  door-plate  .and  walked  in.  A  servant  conducted  her  into  the 
Doctor's  ante-room,  where  many  patients  were  waiting  to  see  him. 
Walpurga  gave  her  name  to  the  servant.  All  looked  at  her  in 
astonishment.  She  was  asked  to  come  in  without  waiting  for  her 
turn,  and  said  that  she  had  only  come  to  say  good-bye.  Gun- 
ther told  her  to  go  into  the  garden  and  wait  there  for  him  until  his 
office  hours  were  over.  She  did  so.  Madame  Gunther  was  sitting 
on  the  steps  that  led  into  the  garden.  She  called  the  peasant 
woman  to  her,  and  when  she  learned  who  she  was,  told  her  she 
might  wait  there.  Walpurga  sat  clown.  Madame  Gunther  went 
on  with  her  work  and  did  not  speak  a  word.  She  had  a  decided 
prejudice  against  the  nurse.  Her  husband  had  often  told  her  of 
Walpurga's  peculiarities,  and  Madame  Gunther  had  concluded  that 
they  were  full  of  coquetry,  and  that  she  was  trying  to  make  a  show 
of  her  simplicity.  Walpurga's  appearance  only  confirmed  her  in 
this  opinion. 

"You  are  going  home  again,  are  n't  you?"  asked  Madame 
Gunther,  at  last ;  for  she  did  not  wish  to  be  uncivil. 

Walpurga  told  her  how  happy  she  would  be  at  home  again. 

Madame  Gunther  looked  up.  She  was  one  of  those  persons  who 
are  rendered  truly  happy  when  freed  from  a  prejudice.  Entering 
into  conversation  with  Walpurga,  she  soon  found  that  the  nurse 
had  been  led  to  exaggerate  certain  traits  of  her  strong  nature, 
but  that  it  was  just  this  strength  of  character  that  had  prevented 
her  from  losing  herself  in  the  new  scenes  through  which  she  had 
passed. 

Madame  Gunther  now  urged  her  to  keep  a  stout  heart  and  to 
avoid  making  herself  unhappy  by  comparing  her  home  with  what 
she  had  left  behind  her  in  the  palace. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  know  all  about  it  ? "  asked  Walpurga ; 
'•  have  you  ever  been  among  strangers  ?  " 

"  I  can  put  myself  in  your  place,"  said  Madame  Gunther  with  a 
smile.  She  was  rapidly  winning  her  way  to  Walpurga's  heart. 

She  asked  her  into  the  room ;  and,  when  Gunther  came  down, 
he  found  Walpurga  on  the  steps,  with  his  fatherless  little  grand- 
hild  on  her  lap. 

"  And  now  you  know  my  wife,  too,"  said  Gunther. 

"  Yes  ;  but  too  late." 

Gunther  also  advised  Walpurga  to  keep  up  her  spirits  after  she 
got  home,  and,  as  he,  too,  was  a  native  of  the  Highlands,  he  gave 
her  a  merry  desc  ription  of  what  her  welcome  would  be. 


258  aV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Gunther  said  he  would  see  her  once  more,  at  the  palace,  and  hit 
wife  eihook  hands  with  her,  saying : 

"  May  you  be  happy  at  home." 

"  I  mean  to  send  your  mother  a  present,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  Tell  her  to  try  and  think  of  the  young  student  who  danced  with 
her  at  the  Kirchweih*  many  years  ago,  when  she  was  betrothed 
to  your  father.  I  '11  send  you  six  bottles  of  wine  to-day.  Tell  her 
to  drink  them  in  remembrance  of  me,  but  not  to  take  too  much  at 
a  time." 

"  I  thank  you  for  my  mother,  and  I  feel  already  as  if  I  had  been 
drinking  the  best  of  wine,"  said  Walpurga.  "My  Countess  Irma 
was  right,  for  she  always  said  Madame  Gunther  would  be  a  lady 
after  my  own-  heart,  and  now  all  that  I  can  wish  you  is,  that,  to  the 
end  of  your  days,  you  may  be  as  happy  as  you  've  made  me." 

No  notice  was  taken  of  her  allusion  to  Irma.  Encouraged  and 
strengthened,  Walpurga  returned  to  the  palace. 

CHAPTER     XVI. 

'T^HE  queen  came  to  Walpurga  that  evening  and  said :  "  I  shall 
1  not  say  farewell  to  you.  Do  n't  let  us  speak  of  parting.  I 
only  wish  to  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,  for  the  love  you  've  shown 
me  and  my  child." 

"  Oh,  queen  !  how  can  you  thank  me  ?  I  '11  tell  no  one  on  earth 
that  the  queen  has  thanked  me,"  cried  Walpurga.  "  But  it 's  only 
because  you  're  so  kind  and  want  to  make  parting  easy  to  me. 
Believe  me,  I  'd  gladly  give  even-  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins  for 
you  and  our  child.  O,  good  God  !  our  child — I  dare  n't  say  that 
any  longer.  I  must  go ;  but  when  I  get  home,  I  '11  have  my 
own  child  again." 

"Yes,  Walpurga;  that  is  what  I  was  about  to  tell  you.  The 
greatest  happiness  on  earth  is  to  be  at  home,  and,  by  this  time,  you 
must  have  seen  that  it  is  all  one,  whether  that  home  be  a  palace  or 
a  cottage." 

"  You  're  right  there  ;  you  can't  get  more  than  your  fill  of  eating 
and  sleeping,  anywhere.  My  Hansei  '11  be  here  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. May  I  bring  him  to  the  queen  and  to  the  king,  and  to  the 
good  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court,  so  that  he  may  thank 
them,  too  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  that,  Walpurga.  There  's  no  need  of  it.  Indeed, 
Doctor  Gunther  forbade  my  taking  leave  of  you ;  but  I  may,  lor 
all  that,  say  good-bye  to  you  again,  to-morrow.  Believe  me,  I 
feel  very  sorry  to  part  with  you." 

"If  the  queen  wishes  it,  I  '11  remain,  and  my  husband  and  my 
whole  brood  can  come,  too." 

*Church  festival 


ON  THE  HEIGi 

"No,  you  had  better  gc  home  again.  If  1  ever  get  into  your 
neighborhood,  I  will  pay  you  a  visit.  I  shall  not  fail  to  tell  my  5013 
how  kind  you  've  been  to  him.  He  shall  never  forget  you." 

Walpurga  had  put  the  child  in  the  cradle  and  cried  out : 

"Just  look!  he's  talking.  We  grown-up  folks  don't  under- 
stand what  the  children  say,  but  he  understands  us."  Walpurga 
now  joyfully  related  that  the  prince  had  kissed  her;  and  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  give  his  mother  a  kiss,  but  he  would  not. 

"I  shall  leave  something  good  for  you  behind  me,"  said  Wal- 
purga to  the  queen.  "  I  've  found  something  that  '11  be  good  for 
you."  Her  face  glowed  with  pleasure,  and  the  queen  asked  : 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  've  found  a  friend,  one  of  the  best  of  friends,  for  you.  Ma- 
dame Gunther  can  speak  right  to  one's  heart ;  just  as  you  do,  but 
in  a  different  way.  I  think  you  ought  to  visit  her  right  often.  It 
would  do  you  good  if  you  could,  once  in  a  while,  spend  an  hour  in 
a  good  neighbor's  house.  You  'd  always  feel  much  better  after  it." 

Walpurga  eagerly  told  how  delightful  it  was  to  visit  one's  neigh- 
bors. The  queen  smiled  at  Walpurga's  ignorance  of  the  condi- 
tions of  court  life,  and  explained  to  her  that  she  could  only  have 
intercourse  with  those  who  visited  the  palace.  Walpurga  was  very 
sorry  that  she  could  not  bring  about  a  meeting  of  the  two  ladies. 

The  queen  retired. 

"  Now  she  's  gone,"  said  Walpurga.  "  I  Ve  said  nothing  at  all ; 
and  I  feel  as  if  I  had  ever  so  much  to  say  to  her."  She  felt  as  if 
she  ought  not  to  leave  the  queen — as  if  she  were  her  only  true 
friend,  a  faithful  companion  who,  if  others  were  to  menace  her  queen 
with  harm,  would  hasten  to  her  aid. 

She  thought  of  the  time  the  queen  had  kissed  her.  How  much 
they  had  experienced  together  since  that  time  ?  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  it  was  scarcely  a  year  ago  ? 

Cowering  beside  the  cradle,  she  was  silent  for  a  long  while.  At 
last  she  softly  sang : 

My  heart  doth  bear  a  burden, 
And  thou  hast  placed  it  there  ; 
And  I  would  wager  e'en  my  life 
That  none  doth  heavier  bear. 

Her  voice  trembled  with  emotion.  The  child  slept.  She  got  up 
and  told  Mademoiselle  Kramer  that  she  intended  to  take  leave  of 
all  in  the  palace.  Mademoiselle  Kramer  dissuaded  her  from  doing 
this.  So  Walpurga  only  went  in  search  of  Countess  Irma,  but  did 
not  find  her,  as  she  had  gone  to  a  party  at  her  brother's  house. 
Walpurga  told  'he  maid  that  she  intended  to  leave  early  the  next 
morning  and  that  she  would  be  very  sorry  if  she  did  not  have  a 
chance  to  say  good-bye.  Meanwhile,  she  took  leave  of  the  maid, 
and  recommended  her  to  take  great  care  of  the  good  Countess  so 


260  aY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

that  she  might  always  keep  well.  Walpurga  held  out  her  hand  to 
the  maid,  but  was  obliged  to  draw  it  back  again,  for  the  latter  had 
both  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  silk  apron,  and,  as  if  mocking 
Walpurga,  merely  curtsied  to  her. 

"The  higher  people  are,  the  better  they  are,"  said  Walpurga, 
when  she  got  back  to  her  room.  "The  queen's  the  highest  ard 
best  of  them  all." 

Walpurga  was  sent  for  by  Countess  Brinkenstein,  who  was 
standing  in  the  same  place  and  in  the  same  position  as  when  she 
had  received  the  nurse,  nearly  a  year  ago.  She  had  seen  this  rigid 
lady  almost  every  day.  In  all  that  time  she  had  not  become  more 
familiar,  but  had  treated  Walpurga  with  unvarying  kindness.  It 
now  seemed  as  if  her  disposition,  or  perhaps  her  office,  required 
her  to  dismiss  Walpurga  in  a  formal  manner. 

"  You  have  behaved  well,"  said  Countess  Brinkenstein,  with  a 
kindly  motion  of  the  hand  ;  "  their  majesties  are  satisfied  with  you. 
And  now,  farewell ;  and  keep  yourself  good." 

She  did  not  rise,  nor  offer  her  hand  to  Walpurga.  She  merely 
nodded  in  token  of  farewell,  and  Walpurga  left. 

Although  this  mode  of  dismissal  was  by  no  means  over-gentle 
or  courteous,  it,  nevertheless,  afforded  Walpurga  great  satisfaction. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  received  a  sort  of  honorable  discharge. 
Although  Couniess  Brinkenstein  had  ruled  with  almost  military 
severity,  she  ha4l  always  been  the  same  and  could  always  be  relied 
upon.  And  this  consistency  was  not  without  its  due  influence  on 
Walpurga. 's  mind. 

In  Walpurga's  room,  stood  two  large  chests,  filled  to  the  very 
top  and  locked.  She  had  received  many  presents  during  the  year, 
and  enough  money  to  buy  a  moderate  sized  farm.  She  would  sit 
down,  now  on  one  and  now  on  the  other  chest,  and  when  she  at 
last  lay  down  to  rest,  she  still  cast  a  wistful  eye  on  her  treasures. 
Like  wandering  spirits,  her  thoughts  roved  through  the  apartments 
of  the  palace,  and  then  to  her  cottage  at  home,  through  the  garden 
and  over  the  mountains,  until  she  was  suddenly  awakened  by  the 
crying  of  the  child.  She  was  obliged  to  ask  herself  whether  it  was 
he'r  own,  or  a  strange  child.  She  speedily  quieted  the  prince,  but 
remained  beside  his  cradle.  "Sleep  shan't  steal  another  minute 
of  the  time  that 's  left  us,"  said  she,  softly. 

Day  dawned.  Walpurga  nursed  the  child  for  the  last  time.  A 
tear  dropped  on  its  head  ;  it  looked  up  at  her  and  then  fell  asleep, 
resting  against  her  heart.  She  whispered  softly  into  its  little  left 
hand,  which  she  held  to  her  lips. 

She  put  the  child  in  the  cradle  again,  fixed  one  more  sad  look 
upon  it,  then,  with  her  back  turned,  walked  around  the  cradle 
thrice,  and,  at  last,  said  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer. 

"I  'm  going  now  ;  it  's  time." 

The  servants  came  and  carried  the  chests  away.     Walpurga  was 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  261 

in  so  forgiving-  a  mood,  that  she  even  took  leave  of  the  French- 
woman. She  did  not  look  back  towards  the  cradle,  but  went  down 
stairs,  and  ordered  the  boxes  to  be  carried  to  an  inn  near  the  pal- 
ace, where  she  had  asked  Hansel  to  meet  her.  She  thought  he 
would  surely  be  on  hand  by  that  time,  for  she  had  told  him  the 
very  hour  when  he  could  meet  her.  But  Hansel  was  not  there. 

Although  it  was  early  in  the  day,  there  was  life  and  bustle  at  the 
inn,  which  was  frequented  by  the  court  servants.  There  was  loud 
carousing,  and  some  liveried  servants  were  inveighing  against  their 
masters  who,  at  Count  Wildenort's  soiree  of  the  previous  night, 
had  kept  them  waiting  in  the  porter's  lodge,  and  the  coachman  on 
the  box,  for  nearly  three  hours.  It  was  said  that  Count  Wildenort 
had  obtained  royal  permission  to  set  up  a  roulette  table,  that  there 
had  been  high  play  and  that  the  king  had  also  been  there,  but  not 
the  queen. 

Walpurga  sat  behind  the  screen,  with  the  hostess,  and  was 
seated  on  the  largest  of  the  chests.  She  went  to  the  front  of  the 
house  to  look  for  Hansei,  but  he  did  not  come.  Baum  brought 
her  a  message  that  she  was  to  go  to  Countess  Irma,  but  not  until 
nine  o'clock.  Walpurga  wandered  about  town  as  if  lost.  "  How 
the  people  run  past  each  other,"  thought  she  ;  "  no  one  knows  who 
the  other  is,  and  has  n't  time  to  ask."  At  that  hour  of  the  day, 
round  hats  are  not  seen  on  the  streets.  None  but  the  cap-wearing 
population  is  now  represented.  Baker's  men  and  butcher's  boys 
whistling  merrily  while  at  their  work,  are  serving  bread  and  meat. 
Servant  maids  stand  at  the  street  corners  waiting  while  milk  is 
measured  out  to  them,  and  market  women  from  the  country  hurry 
to  their  posts,  with  baskets  and  hand  barrows. 

"  It  '11  be  just  the  same  to-morrow  again,  and  you  '11  be  gone. 
Indeed,  it  do  n't  concern  you  to-day,"  said  Walpurga  to  herself, 
while  she  looked  on  at  their  busy  doings.  Just  then  a  large  book- 
seller's shop  was  opened,  and  her  picture  hung  in  the  window. 
What  did  it  matter  to  her?  No  one  concerned  himself  about  her 
feelings. 

"  To-morrow  the  picture  will  still  be  hanging  there  ;  it  '11  be  all 
the  same,  whether  you  're  here  or  not.  I  believe  it  's  all  the  same, 
whether  you  're  in  fhe  world  or  out  of  it,"  added  Walpurga,  as  a 
hearse  went  by  and  no  one  cared  to  enquire  whom  they  were  bury- 
ing. Every  one  went  his  own  way. 

With  heavy  heart,  Walpurga  walked  on,  feeling  as  if  something 
were  drawing  her  back  to  the  palace  and  to  the  child.  She  went 
on  until  she  reached  the  gate  by  which  Hansei  must  come.  But 
still  he  c^ame  not. 

"  If  he  does  n't  come  at  all — if  the  child  at  home  is  ill — if  it  is 
dead  !  "  Walpurga  was  almost  frightened  to  death  with  thoughts 
of  what  might  be.  She  seated  herself  on  a  bench  near  the  gate. 
Horsemen  were  galloping  past,  and  a  blind  invalid  soldier  was 
playing  a  merry  waltz  on  his  organ. 


262  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

A  clock  struck  nine,  and  Walpurga  walked  through  the  town. 
At  the  palace  gate  she  found  Hansei,  and  his  first  words  were : 

"God  greet  you,  Walpurga;  you  're  here  at  last.  Where  have 
you  been  running  to  ?  I  've  been  looking  for  you,  the  last  two 
hours." 

"Come  in  here,"  said  Walpurga,  leading  Hansei  into  a  covered 
way.  "  They  do  n't  speak  so  loud  here." 

It  turned  out  that,  in  her  last  letter,  Walpurga  had  told  Harst.i 
to  come  to  the  palace,  and  not  to  the  inn.  She  begged  him  to  for- 
give her,  for  she  had  been  so  confused  while  writing,  and  then  she 
said :  "  Now  let  me  give  you  a  good  kiss  of  welcome.  Thank 
God,  all  are  well.  I  need  lots  of  love  and  kindness." 

She  asked  him  to  wait  at  the  door  of  Irma's  apartment,  while  she 
went  in.  Irma  was  still  in  bed,  but,  as  soon  as  she  heard  Wal- 
purga's  voice,  asked  her  to  enter.  The  Countess  looked  lovely 
in  deshabille,  but  she  was  quite  pale,  and  her  loosened  hair  lay  in 
wild  profusion  on  the  pillow. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  you  something  to  remember  me  by,"  said 
Irma,  raising  herself,  "  but  I  thought  the  best  thing  I  could  give 
you  would  be  money.  Take  what's  lying  there.  Take  it  all;  I 
want  none  of  it.  Take  it ;  do  n't  be  afraid,  it  's  real  gold,  won  in 
honest  play.  I  always  win — always —  Take  out  your  handker- 
chief and  wrap  the  money  up  in  it." 

Irma's  voice  was  hoarse.  The  room  was  so  dimly  lighted  that 
Walpurga  looked  about  in  fear,  as  if  she  were  in  some  enchanted 
apartment ;  and  yet  she  knew  the  maid,  the  tables,  the  chairs,  and 
could  hear  the  screaming  of  the  parrot  in  the  next  room.  She 
knew  all  tfr.s,  but  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  there  might  be 
something  wrong  about  the  money.  She  hurriedly  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  over  it,  and  then  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"And  now,  farewell,"  said  Irma;  "  may  you  be  happy;  a  thou- 
sand times  happy.  You  are  happier  than  all  of  us.  When  I  do  n't 
know  where  to  go  to  in  this  world,  I  shall  come  to  you.  You  '11  re- 
ceive me,  won't  you  ?  and  will  make  room  for  me  at  your  hearth  ? 
Now  go  !  go  !  I  must  sleep.  Farewell,  Walpurga,  do  n't  forget 
me.  No  thanks ;  not  a  word.  I  '11  soon  come  to  you,  and  then 
we  '11  sing  again  ;  aye,  sing.  Farewell !  " 

"  I  beg  of  you,  let  me  say  only  one  single  word  !  "  cried  WTal- 
purga,  grasping  her  hands.  "  We  can't,  either  of  us,  know  which 
of  us  may  die,  and  then  it  would  be  too  late." 

Irma  pressed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  nodded  assent.  Wal- 
pi  ;rga  continued  : 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  ails  you.  Something  's  going  wrong  with 
you,  and  it  may  go  worse  yet.  Your  hands  are  often  so  cold  and 
your  cheeks  so  hot.  I  wronged  you  that  day — the  second  day 
after  I  came  here.  Forgive  me  !  I  '11  never  wrong  you  again,  ever 
in  thought ;  and  no  one  shall.  No  one  shall  ever  slander  you  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  263 

me ;  but,  I  beg  of  you,  leave  the  palace  as  soon  as  you  can  !  Go 
home  to — " 

"Enough,  enough,"  said  Irma,  deprecatingly,  and  holding  her 
hands  before  her  face  as  if  Walpurga's  words  were  stones  hurled 
at  her.  "Enough,"  added  she,  "farewell ;  do  not  forget  me." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  Walpurga,  who  kissed  it.  The  hand 
was  hot,  as  if  with  fever. 

Walpurga  left.  The  parrot  in  the  ante-room  was  still  crying : 
"God  keep  you,  Irma."  Walpurga  started  with  terror,  and  hur- 
ried away,  as  if  some  one  were  after  her. 

CHAPTER     XVII. 

WHEN  Walpurga  came  out  to  Hansei,  he  asked:  "Shall  I  go 
in,  too  ?  " 

"No,  we  're  ready." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  go  to  the  king  and  queen.  I  've  got  a  good 
deal  to  say  to  them." 

"  No  ;  that  won't  do  at  all." 

"  Why  not  ?     I  know  how  to  talk  to  them." 

He  had  frequently  rehearsed  what  he  intended  to  say  to  the 
king  and  queen.  He  would  let  them  know  that  he  deserved  some- 
thing more  for  giving  up  his  wife  for  so  long  a  time. 

Walpurga  found  it  difficult  to  make  him  understand  that  it 
would  not  do  to  press  the  matter.  Hansei  was  not  inclined  to  give 
up  the  point,  and  was,  moreover,  ashamed  of  confessing  to  the 
innkeeper  that  he  had  not  sat  at  the  same  table  with  their  majes- 
ties, and  that  he  had  not  even  seen  them. 

Walpurga,  who  herself  needed  support,  was  now  obliged  to 
make  a  double  effort  in  order  to  pacify  Hansei,  who  threatened  to 
become  rude  and  troublesome. 

"But  I  may  see  your  prince?  You  still  have  a  right  to  take  me 
there  ?  "  asked  Hansei. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Walpurga,  "that  can  be  done."  She,  too,  was 
herself  glad  to  have  a  chance  to  see  the  child  once  more,  and  this 
would  furnish  a  good  excuse.  "  What  matters  it  if  Mademoiselle 
Kramer  or  Frau  von  Gerloff  make  sport  of  Hansei  ?  Day  after  to- 
morrow all  these  people  will  be  nothing  to  me,  and  I.  shall  be 
nothing  to  them."  Her  cheeks  glowed  with  excitement,  while  she 
hurriedly  led  Hansei  towards  the  prince's  apartments.  She  was 
met  at  the  door  by  Mademoiselle  Kramer  who,  when  Walpurga 
stated  her  wish,  answered  : 

"  No ;  it  can't  be  done.  You  must  not  go  in  again.  Doctor 
Gunther  is  there  and  the  child  is  crying  and  screaming  terribly. 
Go  ;  in  God's  name,  go." 

Mademoiselle  Kramer  disappeared,  closing  the  door  after  her. 
Walpurga  heard  the  child  cry,  and  was  not  allowed  to  go  in  and 


264  O.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

help  it.  She  was  shut  out — thrust  out  of  doors.  Shame  at  the 
treatment  she  had  received  in  Hansel's  presence,  and  anger  at 
these  cruel,  ungrateful  people  struggled  within  her.  At  last,  she 
said : 

"Come,  Hansei ;  we  must  n't  demean  ourselves." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Hansei.  "It 's  plain  enough  that  this  is 
the  way  they  treat  folks  when  they  have  no  further  need  for  them." 

"  Xor  do  we  need  them  any  more.  Thank  God,  that 's  over," 
said  Walpurga. 

She  left  the  palace  in  an  angry  mood,  and  Hansei  muttered  to 
himself  that  he  would  thrash  the  first  man  he  met  on  the  way. 

They  returned  to  the  inn  where  the  chests  had  been  left.  They 
met  Baum  there,  and  Hansei  again  said : 

"  I  'd  swear  that  he  's  no  one  but  Zenza's  Jangerl." 

"Jangerl  's  in  America,"  insisted  Walpurga.  "I  beg  of  you, 
do  n't  trouble  yourself  about  other  matters.  Let 's  hurry  and  get 
away  from  here." 

"  I  Ve  arranged  to  stay  for  another  day.  I  'd  like  to  see  the 
sights,  and  would  like  to  go  to  the  theatre  for  once  in  my  life,  and 
then — " 

"  Some  other  time —     I  want  to  get  home  to  my  child." 

"  You  Ve  been  away  so  long  that  you  need  n't  mind  waiting  a 
day  longer." 

Walpurga  insisted  and  Hansei  was  obliged  to  yield. 

".  Why  do  you  always  look  at  me?  "  asked  Hansei.  "  It  seems 
as  if  you  scarcely  know  me  any  more." 

"  I  'd  forgotten  what  true,  blue  eyes  you  have." 

"  Well,  and  so  I  Ye  been  so  little  in  your  thoughts  that  you 
did  n't  even  remember  how  I  look." 

"  Be  quiet ;  I  thought  of  you  alwavs.  What  «sort  of  eyes  has 
the  child  ?  " 

•'  Bright  and  clear  ones,  and  there  's  never  been  anything  the 
matter  with  them." 

Walpurga  wanted  to  know  what  color  its  eyes  were,  and  whether 
their  color  had  changed,  as  had  been  the  case  with  the  prince. 
But  Hansei  did  not  know,  and  was  quite  vexed  that  his  wife  asked 
him  questions  about  matters  that  he  knew  nothing  of. 

At  last  :hey  mounted  the  wagon. 

It  drove  by  the  palace,  and,  in  spite  of  the  rattling  of  the  wheels 
over  the  stones,  it  seemed  to  Walpurga  as  if  she  could  hear  the 
prince  crying. 

"  I,  too,  must  wean  myself,"  said  Walpurga,  weeping  silently. 

As  soon  as  they  had  passed  the  city  gates,  Hansei  began  abusing 
the  court.  "  They  might  have  sent  us  home  in  a  coach  ;  but  that  's 
the  way  with  them.  They  'd  rather  fetch  our  wives  than  take  'em 
back  again."  Whenever  he  said  anything,  he  would  look  about  as 
if  his  boon  companions  were  present  to  nod  their  approval 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.       .  265 

"  They  might  have  let  us  have  a  pair  of  horses  at  least ;  indeed, 
they  ought  to  have  told  us  to  keep  them,  for  they  've  got  more  than 
they  know  what  to  do  with,  in  the  royal  stables,"  said  he. 

Walpurga  had  so  often  told  every  one  that  her  husband  was 
coming  to  take  her  home  in  a  wagon,  that  no  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  that  purpose ;  and  now  when  Hansei  grumbled  at 
their  want  of  consideration,  she  remembered  her  mistake  and, 
without  confessing  it,  endeavored  to  quiet  him. 

"I  beg  you,  for  all  the  world,"  said  she,  "do  n't  say  anything 
against  the  court.  They  can't  help  it.  If  the  king  or  queen  knew 
of  these  things,  they  'd  gladly  do  everything.  But  you  've  no  idea 
how  little  the  queen  knows  of  the  world ;  of  what  costs  money,  of 
what  has  to  be  bought,  or  earned,  or  paid  she  has  no  notion  at 
all.  She  's  just  like  the  angels.  They  can't  count  money  any 
more  than  she  can,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  She  's  as 
dear  as  an  angel,  too.  She  takes  the  words  out  of  your  heart, 
and  gives  you  such  good  ones  in  return."  When  she  stopped  and 
found  that  Hansei  made  no  reply,  she  bit  her  lips  with  vexation. 
How  she  would  have  been  praised  if  she  had  uttered  such  remarks 
to  Countess  Irma  or  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  But  he  behaved  as  if 
what  she  had  said  were  nothing  at  all.  A  feeling  of  discontent 
struggled  within  her,  but  she  repressed  it.  "  Yes,  I,  too,  must  get 
used  to  the  change,"  thought  she  to  herself.  "It's  all  over. 
Where  I  'm  going,  they  '11  not  make  much  of  everything  I  say." 
For  a  long  while  she  was  silent.  She  felt  that  looking  into  life- 
size  double-mirrors  was  now  at  an  end.  At  last  she  thought  of 
what  the  queen  had  told  her :  "  When  you  get  home,  be  patient 
with  your  people.  The  way  to  have  peace  on  earth  is  to  be  patient 
with  one  another,  and  to  do  good  to  others  without  hope  of  recom- 
pense. Those  who  look  for  no  reward  are  repaid  sevenfold." 
When  she  left  home  her  mother  had  given  her  a  piece  of  bread, 
with  which  to  deaden  her  homesickness  while  at  the  palace,  but 
the  queen  had  given  her  words  and  thoughts  that  were  as  bread, 
for  the'y,  too,  were  life-sustaining  and,  moreover,  long-enduring. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  ray  from  the  queen's  sunny  nature  rested  upon 
Walpurga's  countenance.  She  regained  her  composure,  and  calm 
and  gentle  thoughts  now  rilled  her  mind.  Suddenly  she  seized  her 
husband's  hand  and  said  : 

"  Now,  God  be  praised,  we  hold  fast  to  each  other  again.  You 
must  have  lots  of  patience  with  me.  I  've  been  among  strangers, 
but  you  '11  soon  see  that  I  '11  be  all  right  again  at  home." 

"Yes,  yes,  it 's  all  right,"  said  Hansei. 

Wherever  they  alighted  by  the  way,  Hansei  would  tell  the  folk 
at  the  inn  : 

"  This  is  my  wife  ;  she  's  been  nurse  to  the  crown  prince,  and 
tio\v,  thank  God,  we  're  well  to  do." 

He  had  become  boastful,  but  Walpurga  remained  silent  in  the 

12 


266  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

presence  of  others.  It  was  only  when  they  \\ere  in  the  wagon 
that  she  became  talkative.  She  asked  many  questions  and  Hansei 
had  much  to  relate,  but  she  heard  little  of  what  was  said.  She 
was  forever  thinking  of  her  child,  which-  seemed  to  be  dancing  on 
the  mountain  peaks ;  just  like  the  moon  which  stood  in  the  sky  in 
broad  daylight,  it  ever  seemed  to  move  along  with  them. 

"  And  has  it  blue  eyes  ?  "  asked  she  suddenly,  while  Hansei  was 
giving  her  a  circumstantial  account  of  the  cow  that  was  again 
giving  milk. 

"I  do  n't  know  what  color  the  calf's  eyes  are,"  said  Hansei, 
laughing. 

"  Oh,  do  n't  think  hard  of  me.  I  can't  think  of  anything  but  our 
child.  If  we  traveled  as  fast  as  my  thoughts,  we  'd  be  home  in  a 
twinkling,  as  tailor  Schneck  says." 

She  smiled  and  checked  herself  and,  soon  after,  continued  :  "  O 
how  could  I  ever  have  stayed  away  from  you  so  long?  It  is  n't 
true.  I  've  always  been  at  home  and  now  I  'm  coming.  I  'm 
coming  to  you,  my  child.  Did  n't  you  hear  some  one  cry,  Hansei  ?  " 
said  she,  looking  round.  "  I  hear  some  one  crying ;  it  sounds  like 
a  child." 

"  Do  be  quiet.    You  're  enough  to  frighten  one  out  of  his  senses." 

Walpurga  would  often  look  back,  for  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she 
could  hear  a  child  crying. 

In  the  city  a  child  was  crying,  and  those  who  were  about  it 
could  not  quiet  it.  Their  diamonds,  their  gold,  their  soldiers,  were 
all  of  no  avail.  Behind  her  and  before  her,  Walpurga  heard  noth- 
ing but  the  crying  of  a  child. 

"Why  do  you  shut  your  eyes?  "  asked  Hansei. 

"Oh,"  replied  Walpurga,  "I  feel  like  the  father  of  Wastl  the 
weaver.  When  he  was  cured  of  his  blindness,  he  used  to  say  that 
the  trees  came  towards  him,  and  that  everything  blinded  him.  I, 
too,  feel  as  if  I  had  seen  nothing  during  this  whole  time.  Look ! 
there  's  the  first  man  with  a  green  hat,  and  he  has  his  gamebag 
on  his  backhand  the  trees  have  kept  on  growing  of  themselves, 
while  I  was  away.  I  do  n't  know  how  I  '11  go  through  it  all  and 
not  die,  for  I  should  n't  like  to  die  just  now.  I  want  to  walk  about 
with  my  child.  Oh  dear,  good  Hansei,  do  n't  give  her  a  step- 
mother." 

"Wife,  wife,"  said  Hansei,  quieting  her,  "You  're  making  fools 
of  both  of  us.  I  'm  quite  sure  that  comes  of  your  not  having  eaten 
a  thing  all  day." 

He  insisted  upon  stopping  at  the  next  inn,  where  Walpurga  was 
obliged  to  drink  some  wine.  There  was,  indeed,  wine  jn  her  chest, 
that  is,  the  six  bottles  with  silver  foil,  which  the  Doctor  had  sent. 
But  she  wished  to  take  that  to  her  mother. 

Although  it  was  in  broad  daylight,  Walpurga  fell  asleep  in  the 
wagon.  When  she  awoke,  she  silently  took  her  husband's  hand 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  267 

in  hers  and  .held  it  for  a  long  while.  In  the  last  little  town  this 
side  of  their  village,  they  stopped  again,  in  spite  of  Walpurga's 
protests.  Hansei  asserted  that  the  grandmother  did  not  expect 
them  before  the  next  day;  and  that  they  would  find  nothing  to  eat 
at  home.  He  ordered  a  bounteous  meal,  as  if  he  were  laying  in  a 
supply  for  several  days.  Walpurga  fell  to  heartily,  and  at  last  they 
quite  forgot  themselves,  for  Doctor  Kumpan  entered  the  inn.  He 
was  quite  affable  towards  Walpurga  and  drank  heartily  with  Han- 
sei. He  then  called  him  aside  and  enjoined  him  to  treat  his  wife 
considerately. 

When  they,  at  last,  got  into  the  wagon,  half  of  the  town  had 
gathered  about  the  inn,  in  order  to  have  a  look  at  the  crown  prince's 
nurse.  Doctor  Kumpan  ordered  the  postilion,  who  was  not  in 
uniform,  to  take  his  post-horn  with  him,  and  the  handsome,  dark- 
eyed,  lively  fellow,  blew  his  horn  while  they  drove  through  the 
little  town  and  along  the  road.  The  merry  echoes  resounded 
from  the  mountains  and  through  the  forests.  Walpurga  was 
almost  ashamed  to  drive  in  this  style,  while  the  people  were  at 
work  along  the  road ;  but  Hansei  felt  a  childish  delight  in  the 
sound  of  the  horn. 

At  last  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lake.  Evening  was  already 
setting  in. 

"Those  are  swallows  from  home,"  said  Walpurga.  "The  next 
village  is  ours.  I  see  the  church,  and — hark  !  I  hear  the  bells  ! 
I  hear  them  with  you,  my  child,  and  soon  you  '11  hear  them,  in  my 
arms  ;  and  your  voice — your  voice —  Coachman,  drive  faster ;  no, 
drive  gently  ;  drive  just  as  you  please,  so  that  we  do  n't  upset. 
Stop  here  ;  we  '11  get  out  now.  Stop  !  I  tell  you."  She  alighted, 
but  as  soon  as  she  had  done  so,  she  exclaimed  :  "  No,  I  '11  get  in 
again.  We  '11  get  home  sooner  if  we  ride.  But  why  do  n't 
mother  and  the  child  come  out  to  meet  me  ?  " 

"  She  thinks  we  won't  be  home  till  to-morrow,"  cried  Hansei. 

"  Then  may  be  she  is  n't  at  home  at  all,  and  has  gone  off  with 
the  child  to  visit  some  neighbor." 

"  May  be  so  ;  but  I  think  not." 

"  Do  n't  you  see  a  child  there,  running  across  the  road  ?  Is  that 
it?  Is  it?" 

"  No,  that 's  not  our  child.  It  can't  run  yet ;  but  it  can  crawl 
about  like  a  young  dog." 

"Who  cut  down  the  willow?"  suddenly  asked  Walpurga. 

"  It  was  blown  down  by  the  storm,  last  spring." 

Walpurga  asked  questions,  but  heeded  not  what  she  asked  nor 
the  answers  she  received.  "Just  see,  how  clear  the  brook  is, 
and  how  swiftly  it  flows.  I  think  it  never  used  to  flow  so  quickly. 
And  they  Ve  built  a  new  house  here,  and  there  they  Ve  felled  the 
trees,  and,  just  look  at  the  beautiful  little  water  wagtails.  They  're 
larger  and  more  beautiful  with  us  than  anywhere  else." 


268  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

They  met  a  boy  on  a  grey  mare  which  he  was  riding1  to  water. 

"  That 's  Grubersepp's  Waldl.     How  stout  he  's  growing  !  " 

"  And  it 's  a  good  beginning,  that  the  first  one  to  meet  us  should 
be  a  boy,"  said  Hansei.  "Waldl!"  he  called  out  to  the  lad, 
"  come  over  to  our  house  this  evening  and  I  '11  give  you  some 
cherries."  The  boy  made  no  reply  and  rode  on. 

"  The  two  COWTS  grazing  there  near  the  little  girl,  are  ours,"  said 
'Hansei.  » 

Everything  comes  ;  everything  except  the  mother  and  the  child. 

"  Mother 's  at  home,"  cried  Walpurga,  suddenly.  "  Mother  's 
a.  home.  I  see  smoke  rising  from  our  chimney ;  and  there  she 
stands  by  the  fire  with  the  child  on  her  arms.  Oh  mother!  Oh 
child  !  How  is  it  possible  that  you  do  n't  notice  anything  ?  I  'm 
coming  !  I  'm  here  !  I  'm  home  !  I  'm  coming  !  " 

The  wagon  stopped  before  the  house. 

"Mother!  Child!"  cried  Walpurga  from  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  The  mother  came  out  of  the  house,  with  the  child  on  her 
arm. 

Walpurga  embraced  her  mother  and  kissed  her  child,  but  it 
cried  and  would  not  go  to  her. 

Walpurga  \vent  into  the  room  and  sat  down  beside  the  stove. 
Her  hands  wrere  folded  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  weeping.  She 
looked  about  her  as  if  she  were  in  a  strange  world. 

"  Leave  her  to  herself  for  a  little  while  ;  give  her  a  breathing 
spell,"  said  the  grandmother  to  Hansei,  who  had  gone  out  of  the 
house,  and  who,  with  the  driver's  assistance,  had  been  unloading 
the  chests. 

It  was  but  a  short  time  that  Walpurga  remained  in  the  room,  a 
prey  to  sad  thoughts.  The  sun  stood  high  over  the  opposite 
mountains,  its  rays  making  every  blade  of  grass  in  the  garden 
glitter  like  burnished  gold.  The  mountains  in  the  west  were  all 
aglow  with  light,  and  those  opposite  were  reflected  half-way  across 
the  lake.  The  day  had  been  one  of  great  excitement  to  Wal- 
purga, What  she  had  hoped  for  was  now  realized.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  come.  She  felt  as  if  she  must  start  off  again,  as 
if  she  must  be  up  and  doing.  And  then  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
her  that  it  was  wrong  to  remain  sitting  there  alone,  while  her 
mother  and  her  child  were  out  of  doors,  and  that  it  was  almost  a 
crime  to  pass  a  moment  away  from  them. 

She  went  into  the  kitchen.  The  grandmother,  with  the  child  on 
her  arm,  was  standing  by  the  hearth  in  which  there  was  a  bright 
fire. 

"  Does  my  child  eat  broth  ?  "  asked  WTalpurga.  Attracted  by 
the  voice,  the  child  stared  at  her ;  but,  as  soon  as  Walpurga  fixed 
her  glance  upon  it,  it  nestled  closer  to  its  grandmother,  as  if  to 
hide  itself. 

'•  Yes,  indeed.     It  eats  anything,  and  is  just  like  you.      You  did 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  269 

so,  too.  It  would  like  to  take  a  spoon  and  help  itself,  but  it  can't 
find  its  mouth.  I  'm  making  soup  for  you,  you  must  eat  something 
warm." 

Walpurga's  looks  became  more  cheerful.  The  grandmother  soon 
brought  her  some  soup.  Walpurga  ate  it  and  said  : 

"  Ah,  mother ;  the  first  soup  I  eat  at  home.  Nothing  on  earth 
tastes  like  it.  They  can't  make  such  soup  as  this  at  the  palace." 

The  grandmother  smiled,  and  stroked  Walpurga's  head  with  her 
hand,  as  if  blessing  her.  She  felt  that  Walpurga's  joy  at  being 
home  again,  affected  her  every  thought  and  action. 

"The  home  soup — yes,  indeed,"  said  she  at  last,  and  smiled; 
and,  moved  thereto  by  the  grandmother's  cheerful  looks,  the  child 
laughed,  too. 


BOOK    IV. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  soft  glimmer  of  early  dawn  stole  through  the  heart-shaped 
opening-  in  the  shutters  of  their  little  room.  Down  by  the 
reedy  bank  the  water-ousel  piped  its  matin  song.  Walpurga 
awoke  and  listened  to  the  breathing  of  her  husband  and  child. 
Her  life,  now,  is  a  threefold  breath. 

"Good  morrow,  day.  I  'm  home  again,"  said  she,  softly.  She 
felt  so  happy  at  the  thought  of  being  in  her  own  bed.  Suddenly, 
she  folded  her  hands  and  said : 

"  I  thank  Thee,  Lord  !  Now  I  know  how  it  must  be  to  wake  in 
heaven  and  feel  as  if  home  were  reached  at  last,  to  have  all  your 
loved  ones  with  you,  to  know  that  parting 's  at  an  end,  and  that  all 
will  remain  together  forever.  Now  we  '11  live  happily,  in  kindness 
and  in  righteousness.  Grant  us  all  good  health,  and  put  all  evil 
away  from  us." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  indulged  in  retrospection.  Last  night, 
the  grandmother  had  beckoned  her  to  follow  her  into  the  little 
grassy  garden  back  of  the  house.  When  they  reached  there,  her 
mother  had  said :  "  Look  up  to  those  stars  and  tell  me  :  Can  you 
still  kiss  your  husband  and  your  child,  with  pure  lips  ?  If— God 
forbid — it  be  otherwise — " 

"  Mother  !  "  Walpurga  had  cried.  "  Mother,  I  can.  I  raise  my 
hand  and  call  God  to  bear  me  witness,  I  am  just  as  I  was  when  I 
left  home." 

Said  the  mother :  "  That  makes  me  happy.  Now  I  'm  content 
to  die." 

"  No,  mother ;  let  's  live  together  in  happiness  for  many  years  to 
come." 

"  I  'm  content.  And  now  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice  ;  and 
mind  what  I  tell  you.  You  've  been  out  in  the  wide  world  for 
nearly  a  year.  You  've  been  riding  about  in  carriages,  while  I  've 
been  here  in  the  cottage  and  garden,  taking  care  of  your  child. 
But,  for  all  that,  my  thoughts  went  out  into  the  world,  and  far  be- 
yond, where  coach  and  four  never  get  to.  Now  listen  to  me  and 
obey  iiic." 

"  Yes,  mother ;  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Then  mind  what  I  tell  you.  Give  yourself  time  to  get  used  to 
things  again,  and  do  n't  ask  for  anything  out  of  reason.  You  can't 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  271 

expect  your  child  to  love  you  yet.  You  Ve  been  away  from  it  so 
long  that  it  does  n't  know  you,  and  has  become  estranged.  And 
so  you  must  expect  to  find  it  with  everything  else.  Your  hus- 
band 's  been  alone  for  nearly  a  year ;  his  lot  has  been  much  harder 
than  yours." 

Here  they  were  interrupted.  Hansei  called  from  the  window 
and  asked  them  what  they  were  doing  out  there  so  late,  in  the 
dark. 

"  And  now  go  to  sleep,"  said  the  mother.  "  I  Ve  had  your  bed 
aired  these  three  days.  Sleep  well.  Good  night." 

The  mother  led  her  daughter  by  the  hand  as  if  she  were  a  little 
child,  and  when  they  had  passed  the  threshold,  she  fell  upon  Wal- 
purga's  neck  and  hugged  and  kissed  her  in  the  dark. 

Walpurga  had  closed  her  eyes,  and,  in  thought,  recalled  all  that 
had  happened  during  the  preceding  night.  Everything  seemed 
double,  just  as  with  the  stars  that  are  reflected  in  the  lake  at  night, 
making  it  seem  as  if  there  were  two  skies,  one  above  and  one  in 
the  waters  below. 

At  the  thought  of  the  lake,  Walpurga  arose,  quietly  dressed  her- 
self, bent  over  her  child  and  husband  for  a  moment,  softly  opened 
the  door,  left  the  room,  and  went  out  of  the  house.  She  passed 
through  the  garden.  The  air  was  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
elder  bushes  in  the  hedge.  The  finch  on  the  cherry  tree  warbled 
merrily,  and  she  would  fain  have  called  out  to  him  :  "  Be  quiet ; 
wake  no  one  till  I  return." 

She  passed  on.  From  the  reedy  banks  of  the  lake,  where  the 
water-ousel  and  the  reed-sparrow  were  chirping  their  song,  there 
flew  up  a  flock  of  wild  ducks,  twittering  while  on  the  wing. 

The  sun  rose,  and  the  whole  lake  shone  as  if  a  softly  undulating 
golden  mantle  had  been  spread  over  it. 

Walpurga  looked  about  her  in  all  directions,  and  then,  undress- 
ing herself  in  a  trice,  jumped  into  the  lake.  She  dived  and  rose 
again,  brushed  her  hair  from  her  face  and  plashed  about,  as  happy 
as  if  she  were  a  fish  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake.  The  golden  mantle 
of  the  lake  assumed  a  purple  hue,  and  Walpurga  looked  up  at  the 
purple  sun,  and  over  the  glowing  lake.  "Thus  it  is,"  said  she, 
"  and  thus  it 's  right.  I  'm  here  again  and  yours  again,  and  every- 
thing else  is  put  away  from  me.  I  've  never  been  away."  Under 
the  clustering  willows,  she  hurriedly  dressed  herself,  and  felt  so 
happy  and  cheerful  that  it  cost  her  an  effort  to  refrain  from  singing 
aloud.  Blue  and  green  dragon  flies  hovered  over  the  water. 
Swallows  were  flying  over  the  lake  and  dipping  their  bills  into 
the  waters  which  were  gradually  acquiring  a  paler  hue,  and  from 
yonder  forest  resounded  the  cuckoo's  note.  A  stork  among  the 
reeds  seemed  to  watch  Walpurga  while  she  dressed  herself.  She 
noticed  the  bird  rattling  its  great  bill  and  waved  it  away.  She  hur- 
ried back  to  the  house.  The  finch  in  the  cherry  tree  was  still  warb- 


272  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ling  its  morning  song,  the  two  cows  in  the  stable  were  lowing,  but 
everything  else  about  the  house  was  still  wrapped  in  silence.  Fot 
\*  hile,  \\~alpurga  stood  gazing  at  the  flowers  en  the  window 
sill,  and  was  delighted  with  the  fragrance  of  the  pinks  and  the  rose- 
mary. She  had  planted  them  while  still  a  child,  and  before  she 
had  had  a  garden  of  her  own.  All  the  earth  that  she  could  then 
call  her  cwn,  was  contained  in  these  flower  pots.  Now  she  was 
able 'to  buy  many  a  broad  field,  but  who  could  say  whether  they 
would  give  her  as  much  joy  as  she  now  derived  from  these  dingy, 
broken  pots. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  pinks  had  purposely  blossomed,  in  honor  of 
the  return  of  her  who  had  planted  and  cared  for  them.  There 
were  scarcely  any  buds  left,  but  even  these  few  were  putting  out 
their  little  red  tongues.  Walpurga  returned  to  her  pinks  again 
and  again,  and  could  not  get  enough  of  their  fragrance.  Suddenly, 
she  laughed  to  herself  at  the  thought  of  an  old  story  that  her 
mother  had  told  her  about  blessed  Susanna,  who,  when  hungry 
and  thirsty,  could  satisfy  herself  by  smelling  a  flower.  "  Yes,  but 
that  would  n't  satisfy  my  folks,"  said  she  with  a  smile,  and  went 
back  into  the  house. 

Mother,  husband  and  child  were  still  asleep.  Walpurga  sat  by 
the  cradle  for  a  little  while.  Then  she  went  out  to  the  kitchen, 
and  kindled  the  first  fire  on  her  own  hearth.  Silently  she  watched 
at  the  rising  flame,  \vhile  the  sounds  of  the  matin  bell  of  the  chapel 
by  the  lake  fell  on  her  ear.  She  pressed  both  hands  firmly  against 
her  heart,  as  if  to  hold  fast  the  happiness  with  which  it  was  over- 
flowing. 

CHAPTER  II. 

UTT7HAT!  at  work  already?"  said  Hansei,  entering  the 
VV  kitchen,  and  bearing  in  his  arms  the  child,  whose  only 
garment  was  its  little  shirt. 

"Good  morning!  Good  morning  to  both  of  you,"  exclaimed 
Walpurga,  with  joyful  voice.  Her  ever}-  tone  and  even-  word 
seemed  to  say  that  she  could  feed  and  satisfy  them  all  with  her 
love. 

"  Good  morning,  my  child  !  "  said  she.  The  baby  stretched  out 
its  a"*ns  towards  her,  but,  when  she  offered  to  take  it,  turned  its 
back  on  her  and  laid  its  head  upon  Hansei's  shoulder. 

"Have  patience  with  it;  it  doesn't  know  you  right  yet,"  said 
Hansei ;  "  after  all,  such  a  young  child  is  just  like  an  animal,  and 
do  n't  know  its  mother  if  she  's  been  living  away  from  it." 

As  if  to  refute  Hansei's  humiliating  philosophy,  the  child  turned 
round  again,  stared  at  the  fire,  pursed  up  its  little  mouth,  and  blew 
just  as  when  one  does  when  blowing  the  fire. 

"Grandmother  taught  her  that,"  said  Hansei.     "It  can  do  lots 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  273 

of  other  clever  things.  Grandmother  never  slept  so  late  as  she 
does  to-day.  She  seems  to  feel  that  she  's  no  longer  obliged  to 
draw  the  cart  all  by  herself.  No  one  '11  grudge  it  to  her.  Yes, 
there  never  was  a  better  woman  in  all  the  wide  world,  than  your 
mother." 

"  Never  was  !  is  n't  she  so  still  ?  "  asked  Walpurga,  in  alarm. 

Her  mother  had  been  so  unutterably  happy  yesterday.  Who 
knows  but  what  her  joy  had  killed  her  ?  They  had  been  so  happy 
that  perhaps  misfortune  must  come,  for  nothing  is  perfect  in  this 
world. 

Walpurga  trembled  with  fear  while  these  thoughts  flashed 
through  her  mind. 

"  I  '11  go  look  after  mother,"  said  she,  and  went  to  her  room. 
Hansei  followed,  carrying  the  child  on  his  arm.  And  now,  when 
the  mother  awoke,  she  said  :  "Well,  and  so  they  have  to  awaken 
me.  Am  I  still  a  young  girl  who  sleeps  late  and  dreams  when  the 
elder  flower  is  in  blossom  ?  Yes,  now  I  remember  my  dream.  I 
dreamt  that  I  was  young  again  and  was  a  servant  at  the  farm  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountains,  and  that  your  father  came.  It  was  on 
a  Sunday,  and  he  and  I  went  off  together  to  my  brother's,  in  the 
pitch  hut.  We  were  standing  by  the  brook  where  the  elder 
grows,  and  father  was  on  the  other  side,  reaching  out  his  hand  to 
me,  so  that  I  could  jump  across,  when  you  woke  me.  I  can  feel 
his  hand  in  mine  yet." 

"  God  be  praised  that  you  're  awake  again,"  interposed  Wal- 
purga. The  mother  smiled  and  continued  : 

"  And  now,  Walpurga,  I  've  only  one  thing  to  ask  of  you.  If 
you  do  n't  mind  doing  so,  give  me  a  florin  or  two.  I  'd  like  to  go 
home  once  more,  to  the  place  where  I  was  born  and  was  in  service, 
and  where  my  brother  lives ;  and  I  would  like  to  have  a  few  pence 
about  me,  to  give  to  the  poor  people  who  are  still  there." 

"  Yes,  mother ;  you  shall  have  all  you  want.  We  've  plenty, 
thank  God." 

"I  'd  like  to  know,"  said  the  mother,  "why  I  dreamt  of  my 
home  last  night." 

"That 's  plain  enough,"  said  Hansei.  "A  few  days  ago,  when 
the  wood-carver  from  your  village  was  here,  they  were  saying  that 
the  owner  of  the  freehold  farm  there  would  like  to  sell  his  place, 
lint  who  's  got  money  enough  to  buy  that  ?  " 

"You  see,"  said  the  old  woman  to  Walpurga,  "what  a  heretic 
and  believer  in  dreams  your  husband  has  become.  He  learned  all 
that  from  the  innkeeper.  And  now  give  me  the  child  and  hurry 
out  of  here.  Come,  you  little  chamois-kid,  jump  about  and  dance." 

She  sang  to  the  child,  and  it  stretched  forth  its  arms  towards 
her,  just  like  a  bird  glad  to  return  to  its  nest. 

Hansei  and  Walpurga  left  the  room.  The  child  lay  beside  the 
grandmother,  and  the  two  were  quite  happy  together. 

12* 


274  tf-V  7 HE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Aivi  now  I  '11  milk  the  cow,"  said  Hansei. 

"You?" 

"  Yes.     Who  else  ?     Mother  can't  do  everything." 

"  Xo  ;  let  me  do  that  now." 

Walpurga  went  out  to  the  stable  with  her  husband  ;  she  wanted 
to  relieve  him  of  the  task,  but  it  would  not  do,  and  Hansei  said  • 

"  There  's  no  need  of  it,  either ;  that  '11  all  soon  be  different. 
When  you  become  landlady,  we  '11  have  two  servants,  at  least,  and 
they  can  see  to  the  milking.  We  '11  have  room  for  six  cows  besides 
our  own,  and  will  be  entitled  to  have  as  many  more  on  the  mount- 
ain meadow.  Then  you  can  make  butter  and  cheese,  and  do  what 
you  like." 

Hansei  seemed  to  be  talking  to  the  cow.  He  did  not  care  to  see 
what  sort  of  a  face  his  wife  would  make.  But  now  she  had,  at 
all  events,  heard  of  the  matter,  and  they  could  talk  it  over,  after- 
ward. 

Walpurga  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  stable  door  opened,  and 
a  girl  entered,  carrying  a  cake  on  a  large  platter.  She  removed 
the  cloth  with  which  it  was  covered,  and  said : 

"  My  master,  the  landlord  of  the  Chamois,  sends  this  with  his 
kind  greetings,  and  his  welcome  to  the  wife." 

••  You  silly  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Hansei,  jumping  to  his  feet,  and 
looking  quite  oddly  with  the  milk  pail  buckled  fast  to  him.  "  You 
silly  thing  !  People  do  n't  carry  cakes  into  a  stable.  Take  it  into 
the  room,  and  when  you  get  home,  give  them  my  best  thanks,  and 
tell  the  innkeeper,  our  godfather,  to  honor  us  with  a  visit  soon — 
no,  we  '11  come  to  see  him  this  forenoon  ;  and  now  you  may  go." 

Walpurga  remembered  that  her  mother  advised  her  not  to  at- 
tempt to  change  things  at  once.  She  determined,  for  the  present, 
to  listen  to  everything,  and  let  affairs  go  on  in  their  own  way,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  open  in  the  meanwhile.  Time  would  show  how  the 
hind  lay. 

Hansei  went  on  milking  the  cows,  and  Walpurga  said  nothing. 

"  One  can't  always  have  the  world  all  to  one's  self,  the  way  it 
was  down  at  the  lake  this  morning ;  but  while  there  's  such  a  bus- 
tle about  my  ears,  I  must  keep  my  own  counsel,"  thought  she. 

When  Hansei  had  finished  milking,  and  stood  there  with  a  pail 
in  each  hand,  he  said : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  's  splendid  milk ;  and  there  's  lots  of  it,  too." 

"  No,  I  mean  what  do  you  think  of  the  landlord  of  the  Chamois  ?  " 

"  It 's  very  polite  of  him,  and  I  'm  much  obliged  to  him  for  it. 
We  must  try  to  get  even  with  him." 

"  There  's  no  need  of  that ;  we  '11  have  to  pay  dear  enough  for 
the  cake.  But  we  're  not  so  stupid,  either.  You  '11  soon  see,  Wal- 
purga, I  know  which  side  my  bread  's  buttered  on,  as  well  as  hd 
does.  Yes,"  continued  Hansei ;  "  if  I  'd  only  had  a  chance  to  talk 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  27$ 

to  the  king,  you  'd  have  soon  found  out  that  Hansei  's  not  the 
dullest  fellow  in  the  world." 

"  I  knew  that  long  ago.     I  do  n't  need  the  king  to  tell  me  that." 

At  breakfast,  Walpurga  was  delighted  to  find  that  the  child 
would  take  a  few  spoonfuls  of  porridge  from  her;  but  it  would  not 
go  to  her,  and  cried  as  if  its  heart  would  break,  when  she  tried  to 
take  it. 

"  Have  you  counted  up  all  we  're  worth  ?  Of  all  the  money  you 
sent,  not  one  penny  's  been  taken.  That  is,  I  took  fifteen  florins  to 
buy  me  a  rifle." 

"  That  was  right,"  said  Walpurga.  And  with  all  her  confidence 
in  him,  she  resolved  that  she  would  not  hand  Hansei  the  money 
that  Irma  had  given  her  on  the  day  she  left  the  palace.  /  She  knew 
not  why,  but  she  felt  a  dread  of  the  gold  that  had  come  to  her  in 
so  strange  a  manner.  She  had  not  yet  looked  at  it  herself.  Be- 
sides, she  felt  that  it  might  be  well  to  keep-something  in  reserve 
for  a  rainy  day.  It  might  be  better  if  all  were  not  displayed  at 
once.  She  promised  to  reckon  it  all  up  before  noon,  and  expressed 
her  regret  that  she  had  no  closet  in  which  to  pack  away  all  the 
pretty  things  she  had  brought  with  her  in  the  chest. 

"  I  would  n't  unpack  at  all,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Hansei.  "You 
might  as  well  wait  till  we  have  our  inn.  You  '11  find  enough  chests 
and  trunks  there." 

Walpurga  made  no  answer.  Hansei  looked  at  her  curiously,  but 
she  remained  silent. 

"Why  don't  you  say  something  about  the  matter?"  he  en- 
quired at  last. 

"  Because  you  have  n't  told  me  about  it  right.  Come  now,  what 
do  you  really  mean  ?  " 

Hansei  informed  her  that  every  one  said  the  most  sensible  thing 
he  could  do  would  be  to  buy  out  the  landlord  of  the  Chamois. 
•There  could  n't  be  a  better  hostess  in  the  world  than  Walpurga,  and 
they  would  have  a  larger  custom  than  any  house  in  the  land. 
They  could  alter  the  sign — that  would  be  a  clever  stroke  and  would 
draw  more  than  anything  else.  It  should  no  longer  be  "  The 
Chamois,"  but  the  "The  King's  Nurse,"  or  "The  Prince's  Nurse,  " 
instead.  There  was  a  painter  thereabouts,  who  would  make  a 
new  sign,  representing  Walpurga  with  the  prince  in  her  arms. 
People  would  be  drawn  together  from  all  parts  of  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  there  would  n't  be  tables  and  chairs  enough,  and  money 
would  pour  in  on  them  from  all  sides.  The  bargain  was  a  fair 
one;  the  innkeeper  had  named  a  reasonable  price.  "Every  one 
says  so,"  said  Hansei,  "and  now  what  have  you  to  say?  for  it 's 
for  you  to  decide." 

"  I  do  n't  care  for  what  the  people  say,"  began  Walpurga,  "but 
tell  me,  frankly,  have  you  concluded  the  purchase  ?  If  you  have, 
I  've  nothing  to  say.  I  would  n't  have  you  break  your  word  nor 


276  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

disgrace  yourself,  for  all  the  world.     You  're  the  husband  and  your 
word  must  be  kept." 

"  lY.at  's  vijht ;  if  only  every  one  could  have  heard  that." 
"  What  need  you  care  whether  they  hear  it  or  not  ?  " 
"  \Yhy,  the  stupid  people  think  that  you  rule  eveything,  because 
the  money  comes  from  you.     To  be  frank  with  you,  the  bargain 
isn't  concluded  ;  it  all  depends  upon  your  consent." 

"  And  if  I  were  to  say  '  no/  would  you  be  angry  ?  Answer  me  ; 
why  are  you  silent  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  would  grieve  me  to  the  heart  if  you  did." 
"I  don't  say  'no,'"  answered  his  wife,  soothingly.  "But 
there  's  one  thing  we  'd  better  have  an  understanding  about,  at 
once.  I  never  want  to  hear  another  word  as  to  where  the  money 
comes  from.  You  were  alone  all  that  time ;  you  Ye  had  to  suffer 
for  it,  as  well  as  I,  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  I  shan't  forget  it. 
But,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  do  n't  say  '  no.'  We  're  husband  and 
wife  and  will  talk  over  and  settle  everything  together.  If  the 
money  's  to  bring  discord,  I  'd  rather  throw  the  whole  of  it  into 
the  lake,  and  myself  in  after  it." 

Walpurga  wept,  and  Hansei,  with  choking  voice,  said :  "  For 
God's  sake,  do  n't  weep.  I  feel  as  if  my  heart  would  break  when 
you  cry.  I  would  n't  have  you  cry,  no,  not  for  ten  inns.  Oh 
Lord  !  to  cry  on  the  very  first  morning !  Depend  on  it,  nothing 
shall  be  done,  unless  you  're  perfectly  satisfied." 

Walpurga  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and,  with  the  other,  wiped 
away  the  tears  which  had  relieved  her  overflowing  heart.  They 
heard  visitors  approaching.  Walpurga  hurried  to  the  bedroom, 
for  she  would  have  no  one  see  that  she  had  been  weeping.  While 
in  the  room,  she  put  the  gold  that  Irma  had  given  her  into  a  pillow 
case,  and  then  hid  it.  One  piece  of  the  money  had  dropped  on  the 
floor.  She  picked  it  up  and  looked  at  the  image  of  the  king 
stamped  upon  it.  "Such  a  king's  head  goes  everywhere,"  said 
she.  "  If  he  could  only  be  everywhere  in  thought,  so  as  to  set 
everything  to  rights.  But  that 's  more  than  any  man  can  do.  God 
alone  can  do  that —  How  are  they  getting  on  in  the  palace  ? 
What  will  become  of  them  all  ?  Is  it  only  a  day  since  I  left  there  ?  " 
Lost  in  reverie,  \Valpurga  remained  in  trie  room  for  a  long 
while.  At  last,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  awakened  to  the  fact  that,  in 
this  world,  no  one  can  afford  to  give  all  his  thoughts  to  others.  It < 
•  >\v  her  duty  to  take  care  of  herself.  Various  neighbors  and 
friends  dropped  in  to  welcome  Walpurga.  Hansei,  who  was  all 
impatience,  said  that  she  had  just  gone  to  her  room  and -would  re- 
turn in  a  little  while.  At  last  Wralpurga  came,  radiant  with  joy 
and  health.  They  all  expressed  themselves  delighted  to  see  her 
looking  so  well,  spoke  of  the  excellent  reputation  she  enjoyed,  and 
assured  her  that  they  took  as  much  pleasure  in  her  good  fortune 
as  if  it  were  their  own. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  277 

Walpurga  thanked  them  heartily.  The  great  cake  which  the 
innkeeper  had  sent  was  soon  eaten  up,  for  she  offered  some  of  it 
to  every  visitor. 

"  How  goes  it  with  old  Zenza?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

"Just  to  think  how  good  she  is;  she  even  remembers  the  old 
torment.  Yes,  your  kindness  was  thrown  away  on  her  and  her 
offspring,"  said  several  voices.  She  was  soon  informed  that  Zenza, 
with  her  son  and  Black  Esther,  had  left  the  neighborhood.  No  one 
knew  where  they  had  gone,  but  the  root-hut  on  the  Windenreuthe 
now  stood  empty. 

Nor  did  troops  of  beggars  from  the  village  and  the  neighboring 
country  fail  to  present  themselves.  It  must  have  been  quickly 
noised  about  that  Walpurga  had  returned,  bringing  a  whole  chest- 
ful  of  gold  with  her. 

Walpurga  was  astonished  to  learn  how  many  relations  she  had 
in  the  neighborhood.  Many  claimed  relationship  with  her  father, 
but  were  unable  to  state  exactly  in  what  degree,  and  some  of  the 
beggars,  who  disputed  each  other's  claims,  were  soon  involved 
in  quarrels  with  each  other.  Walpurga  dispensed  modest  gifts  to 
all  of  them.  They  left  in  an  ill  humor.  What  they  had  received 
had  hprdly  been  worth  the  trouble  of  going  for  it,  and  the  high- 
\\ays  and  byways  resounded  with  imprecations  launched  against 
Walpurga  who,  they  said,  had  become  proud  and  sting}'.  But 
there  were  soon  fresh  troops  of  beggars.  It  was  like  scattering 
wheat  among  sparrows ;  more  were  constantly  coming. 

"  Take  your  whip  and  drive  the  whole  pack  of  beggars  away," 
suddenly  cried  a  loud  voice  from  the  road. 

It  was  the  innkeeper,  accompanied  by  his  two  dogs,  Dachsel  and 
Wachsel,  who  added  their  voices  to  that  of  their  master,  until  at 
last  a  beggar  gave  one  of  the  dogs  a  kick  that  sent  him  off  yelping. 
The  innkeeper  now  swore  more  violently  than  before,  but  Wal- 
purga went  out  and,  in  quite  a  determined  tone,  requested  him  not 
to  interfere,  and  then  doubled  her  gifts  to  all  of  them.  She  thus 
escaped  a  confidential  and  patronizing  familiarity  on  the  part  of 
the  innkeeper.  She  was,  as  yet,  uncertain  how  she  ought  to  behave 
towards  him.  He  was  evidently  Hansel's  seducer.  If  she  were  to 
show  herself  angry  at  him  at  the  start,  it  might  lead  to  much  vexa- 
tion and  would  destroy  all  her  influence.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
found  it  difficult  to  force  herself  to  greet  him  in  a  friendly  manner. 

When  he  had  entered  the  room,  he  asked  Hansei : 

"  Have  you  told  her  everything  ?  "  * 

"Of  course." 

"  And  is  she  agreed  ?  " 

"  She  says  she  '11  be  satisfied  with  anything  I  do." 

Walpurga  came  into  the  room,  and  with  the  words :  "  Wel- 
come, and  many  congratulations  to  the  hostess  of  the  Chamois," 
the  innkeeper  extended  his  hand  to  her. 


278  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Thanks  for  the  first ;  but,  before  I  accept  the  second,  my  hus- 
band must  be  landlord  of  the  Chamois." 

"  Heigho  !  "  exclaimed  the  innkeeper,  "  how  clever !  how  studied  ! 
how  dignified  and  polite  !  Look  here,  Hansei !  have  n't  I  always 
told  you  that  you  've  got  a  wife  who  might  be  a  queen  ?  " 

"  And  why  not,  if  my  husband  were  a  king  ?  " 

The  innkeeper's  fist  descended  on  the  table,  and  he  laughed  so 
heartily  at  this  clever  sally,  that  his  two  dogs  began  to  bark  and 
thus  accompanied  his  laughter  with  their  applause.  He  showed 
the  other  visitors  that  it  would  not  do  to  weary  their  hosts.  He 
left  soon  afterward,  the  rest  of  the  company  going  with  him. 

CHAPTER  III. 

*  '  A  ND  for  your  mother  I  '11  build  a  snug  room  looking  towards 

1\  the  garden,  where  she  can  take  her  comfort.  I  always 
knew  it  before,  but  it  was  n't  till  you  were  away,  that  I  found  out 
what  a  treasure  she  is  to  us.  If  the  Lord  only  lets  us  keep  her 
with  us  for  many  a  year  to  come.  Yes,  your  mother  shall  have  the 
best  room  in  the  house." 

Thus  spake  Hansei,  with  gleeful  countenance.  Walpurga  en- 
quired :  "  Where  do  you  mean  to  build  ?  " 

Hansei  looked  around  as  if  to  express  his  surprise  at  her  asking 
such  a  question.  He  had  yielded  so  far  as  to  promise  that  noth- 
ing should  be  done  without  his  wife's  consent.  He  thought  that 
this  was  all  that  could  in  reason  be  expected  of  him,  and  that  it 
was  best  to  finish  up  the  business  at  once. 

With  great  self-command,  he  said  : 

"  Why,  at  our  inn,  to  be  sure.  I  shan't  do  anything  to  this  tum- 
bledown cottage.  But  I  've  already  told  them  that  they  must  n't 
disturb  the  nut  tree.  You  '11  be  surprised  when  you  see  how  full  it 
is.  We  shall  get  three  measures  of  nuts  this  year,  and  a  nut  year 
is  a  good  one  for  boys." 

Walpurga  clapped  her  hand  to  his  mouth  and,  with  downcast 
eyes,  said  :  "  You  're  a  dear  good  fellow  ;  but,  believe  me,  I  know 
you  better  than  you  do  yourself.  I  'm  glad  that  you  're  much 
sharper  than  you  used  to  be.  I  often  used  to  tell  you  not  to  be  so 
bashful  and  forever  keeping  in  the  background.  You  've  so  much 
common  sense  ;  more,  indeed,  than  all  the  rest  of  them.  If  you 
could  only  have  been  behind  the  door,  when  I  told  the  queen  about 
you ;  and  she  promised  me  faithfully  that  she  '11  come  to  see  us 
when  she  visits  the  mountains  next  year." 

Hansei  complacently  swallowed  the  praise  that  his  wife  bestowed 
upon  him,  and  kept  on  smiling  to  himself  for  some  time  afterward. 

Husband  and  wife  praised  and  extolled  each  other — a  custom 
more  honored  in  the  breach  than  the  observance,  at  least  among 
peasants,  who  would  feel  ashamed  it  they  knew  of  it.  Their  com- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  279 

ing  together  after  so  long  a  separation,  seemed  like  a  new  wooing 
and  wedding.  The  question  of  the  purchase  of  the  inn,  prevented 
them,  however,  from  fully  realizing  this  and  even  threatened  to  im- 
peril their  domestic  happiness. 

"  So  you  're  agreed  that  we  '11  be  host  and  hostess  of  the  Cham- 
ois ?  "  enquired  Hansei. 

"I  've  told  you,  already,  that  we  'd  talk  it  over ;  and  so  you 
think  you  '11  make  a  good  landlord  ?  " 

"  Not  so  good  a  landlord  as  you  will  a  landlady.  That 's  what 
everybody  says  ;  and  the  landlady  's  always  the  chief  point.  You  '<t 
be  the.best  landlady,  for  you  can  earn  your  bread  with  your  tongue, 
just  as  the  parson  does ;  and  that  '11  help  us  to  get  a  penny  or  two 
more  for  our  wine  and  everything  else.  YQU  've  got  a  way  of  look- 
ing right  into  people's  hearts,  and  can  give  and  take,  and  that 's 
the  best  sign  that  you  're  made  to  be  a  landlady." 

Hansei  did  not  understand  how  Walpurga  could  still  hesitate. 
The  highest  ideal  of  the  young  mountaineer  is  to  be  an  innkeeper ; 
to  supply  every  one  with  meat  and  drink,  and  to  live  by  the  profits 
of  it ;  to  give  feasts  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  the  merriest  one  at 
them  ;  to  receive  money  while  others  spend  it ;  to  have  his  house 
the  rendezvous  of  all,  no  matter  how  varied  their  pursuits  and  in- 
terests ;  to  be  the  helper  and  adviser  of  every  one ;  the  man  with 
whom  all  keep  on  good  terms,  who  knows  all  that  is  going 
on,  all  about  bargains  and  prices,  and  who,  like  the  lord  of  the 
manor  in  the  olden  time,  receives  a  profit  whenever  cow,  or  farm, 
or  house  change  hands.  And,  besides,  what  others  eat  and  drink 
tickles  his  palate,  too,  and  he  does  n't  grow  thin  upon  it.  And 
then,  like  the  parson,  he  would  derive  profit  from  baptisms,  mar- 
riages and  funerals ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  strangers  who  would 
come  during  the  summer  and  would  be  obliged  to  pay  tribute  to 
the  landlord,  because  the  mountains  are  so  high  and  the  lake  so 
deep,  and  because  he  allows  them  to  see  it  all.  Yes,  an  inn  is  like 
a  great  lake — all  the  little  streams  that  flow  from  the  different 
mountain  rills  concentrate  there. 

Walpurga  stared  at  her  husband  in  surprise,  while  she  listened 
to  his  animated  and  yet  detailed  description  of  the  advantages  of 
innkeeping.  She  almost  felt  inclined  to  favor  his  plan,  and  thought 
to  herself:  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  the  most  sensible  thing  after  all ; 
for  I  '11  never  feel  quite  at  home  again  in  the  old,  narrow  ways  of 
life  that  I  once  used  to  lead.  I  've  grown  different,  and  must  have 
something  different."  Frankly  and  sincerely,  she  again  assured 
him  t/iat  she  was  not  opposed  to  the  project,  but  that  it  would  be 
well  to  go  about  it  cautiously. 

"  And  do  you  know  what 's  best  of  all  ?  "  asked  Hansei.  "  We  're 
to  have  a  post-office  here — the  judge  himself  says  so — and  if  it 
should  fail  us,  you  could  easily  bring  it  about.  You  '11  give  the 
village  a  "Teat  name.  Indeed,  you  '11  make  a  town  of  it,  and  the 
houses  will  be  worth  twice  as  much  as  they  now  are." 


280  aY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  wanted  his  wife  to  go  up  to  the  village  with  him  at  once,  in 
order  to  look  at  the  inn  ;  but  Walpurga  said  : 

"  Let  me  get  a  good  rest  in  our  old  house  before  we  go  up  there. 
The  inn  won't  run  away.  I  can't  tell  you  how  happy  I  am  to  be  in 
our  house  again.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  try  every  chair.  Even-thing 
seems  so  good  at  home.  It 's  just  as  if  every  chair  and  every 
table  had  eyes,  and  was  looking  at  me  and  saying :  '  Yes,  we  still 
know  you,  and  have  waited  for  you ; '  and  now,  I  beg  of  you,  do 
let  me'rest  awhile." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  just  stay,"  replied  Hansei,  walking  up  and  down  the 
room.  Suddenly,  as  if  called  by  some  one,  he  went  out  and  split 
several  logs  which  he  had  laid  aside. 

Walpurga  came  out  and  looked  at  him  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "work  will  be  kept  up  just  as  it  always  was.  I 
shan't  be  a  lazy  landlord — rest  assured  of  that;  and  I  won't  take 
to  drinking,  either.  Are  you  going  up  to  the  village  with  me  ?  " 
he  enquired  at  last. 

"  Yes  :  but  do  come  in." 

Hansei  was  soon  on  the  road,  and  was  not  a  little  proud  to  be 
seen  entering  the  village  with  his  wife.  At  the  fountain  near  the 
townhall,  there  were  women  and  girls  with  their  tubs.  As  soon  as 
they  saw  Walpurga,  they  came  up  to  her  and  offered  their  greetings 
and  congratulations. 

The  children  were  just  leaving  school.  Walpurga  called  several 
of  them  to  her,  shook  hands  with  them,  and  gave  them  kind  mes- 
sages to  their  parents.  With  saddened  heart,  she  \vould  hear  of 
the  death  of  such  and  such  a  one.  The  other  children  were  gath- 
ered in  groups,  and  would  stand  about,  staring  at  her  with  surprise. 
Walpurga's  being  sent  for  and  taken  to  the  palace  had  been  as  a 
fairy-tale  to  the  village  children  ;  and  now  the  fairy  herself  was 
standing  there  in  broad  daylight,  and  talking  just  as  other  people 
did. 

At  last  Walpurga  left  them,  but  the  children  kept  calling  out  her 
name,  in  order  to  prove  that  they  still  knew  her. 

When  she  and  her  husband  walked  on,  the  latter  pointed  towards 
the  townhall.  "  Look  !  "  said  he,  "  I  '11  soon  be  there,  too.  It 's 
almost  certain  that  they  '11  elect  me  as  one  of  the  town  council.  I 
might  even  become  a  burgomaster.  But  I  won't  take  that,  for  that 
would  get  aa  innkeeper  into  lots  of  trouble." 

Walpurga  observed  that  the  idea  of  becoming  a  host  had  taken 
deep  root  in  Hansei.  She  simply  replied  :  "  I  find  that  you  've  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  \vorld  this  year,  but  you  must  certainly  have 
learned  that  it 's  every  one's  duty  to  care  for  his  own,  and  that 
when  one's  poor  and  unfortunate,  no  one  lends  a  helping  hand." 

"  Certainly  ;  but  think  God  !  we  do  n't  need  any  one  now  ;  quite 
the  contrary." 

They  were  passing  the  house  of  Grubersepp,  the  wealthy  farme/ 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  281 

and,  indeed,  the  richest  man  in  the  community.  He  was  a  tall, 
lean  man,  whose  features  always  wore  a  sour  expression.  He  was 
si  an  ding  on  the  steps  before  his  house,  and  Hansei  greeted  him 
civilly.  Grubersepp,  however,  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  off 
towards  the  stable.  It  would  not  do  for  a  rich  farmer  like  him  to 
welcome  a  day  laborer's  child  like  Walpurga.  The  whole  village 
might  make  fools  of  themselves  on  her  account,  but  a  rich  farmer 
like  Grubersepp  knows  his  own  importance  too  well.  It  would  be 
mighty  fine,  indeed,  if  he  were  known  to  trouble  himself  about  a 
creature  who  used  to  be  glad  if  he  would  let  her  have  a  pint  or 
two  of  milk  on  trust. 

Hansei  cried  out  aloud :  "  Good  day,  Grubersepp  !  my  wife  's 
come  back  again." 

Grubersepp  acted  as  if  he  had  not  heard  him,  and  went  towards 
the  stable. 

The  joy  that  Walpurga  had  experienced  while  receiving  the 
greetings  of  the  villagers  was  not  enough  to  compensate  her  for 
her  pain  at  the  slight  thus  put  upon  her.  After  all,  it  was  only  a 
silly,  narrow-minded  fanner  displaying  his  stupid  peasant  pride. 
Had  n't  the  king  spoken  to  her,  and  had  he  ever  spoken  to  such  a 
dolt  as  he  ?  But  this  did  not  satisfy  her.  Grubersepp  was  the 
first  in  the  village,  and  to  be  slighted  by  him,  or  to  incur  his  ill 
will,  was  no  trifling  matter  after  all. 

"  I  '11  never  be  hostess  to  you,  you  old  pitchfork,"  said  Walpurga, 
looking  towards  the  house  ;  "  I  '11  never  pour  out  a  glass  of  wine 
for  you  and  say,  '  God  bless  you  ! '  with  it." 

"What  are  you  saying?"  said  Hansei,  as  Walpurga  uttered 
these  words  to  herself. 

"  If  we  could  buy  that  silly  old  pitchfork's  land,  I  'd  like  it  much 
better  than  the  inn,"  she  answered. 

"  Of  course,  that  would  be  much  finer ;  but  we  have  n't  enough 
money  for  that ;  and,  even  if  we  had,  Grubersepp  would  n't  sell. 
On  the  contrary,  when  a  poor  man  has  his  eye  on  a  field,  he  buys 
it  up  before  he  gets  a  chance  at  it." 

When  Hansei  and  Walpurga  arrived  at  the  inn,  they  found  quite 
a  crowd  there.  A  new  purchase  of  wine  had  just  been  opened, 
and,  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  the  drinking  was  at  the  host's 
expense. 

"  Ah  !  here  comes  the  new  landlady,"  exclaimed  several  voices. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Walpurga,  "my  husband  has  n't  concluded 
the  bargain  yet." 

The  hunter  from  Zell  was  there  also,  and  Walpurga  saw,  at  a 
lance,  that  her  husband  was  caught  in  a  net  of  flatterers.  She 
soon  got  out  of  the  room.  The  host  and  his  wife  showed  her  and 
Hansei  through  all  the  rooms  and  the  cellars.  Walpurga  found 
it  all  very  good,  but  kept  saying  that  they  would  have  to  build 
and  ai  range  everything  anew. 


282  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"You're  spoiled,"  said  the  innkeeper.  "Here  in  the  country, 
things  are  different  from  what  they  are  in  your  palace.  You  seem 
to  forget  that  one  need  n't  drive  a  nail  into  this  house  for  the 
next  fifty  years."  Walpurga  would  not  permit  herself  to  be 
drawn  into  any  discussion  of  the  subject.  On  the  way  home,  she 
remarked  to  her  husband,  that  it  would  be  \vell  to  have  the  house 
examined  by  some  one  who  knew  all  about  building  matters,  for 
neither  of  them  understood  anything  about  it,  and  to  make  any- 
thing out  of  the  innkeeper,  was  like  drawing  blood  from  a  stone. 

Hansei  was  vexed  that  the  bargain  had  not  been  concluded  on 
the  spot.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  remain  in  the  old  house 
another  hour.  Walpurga,  on  the  other  hand,  wished  to  stave  off 
the  matter  for  awhile.  Besides  that,  as  Hansei  was  obliged  to  ad- 
mit, she  suggested  many  points  that  required  careful  consideration. 

That  afternoon,  Walpurga  reckoned  up  all  that  belonged  to  her. 
It  was  a  handsome  amount.  There  was  almost  enough  to  pay  for 
the  inn,  with  the  fields,  meadows  and  woods  belonging  to  it.  One 
or  two  prosperous  years  would  enable  them  to  clear  off  the  mort- 
gage which  they  might  be  obliged  to  leave  remaining  on  the  pro- 
perty. 

CHAPTER     IV. 

IT  was  evening.     The  grandmother  was  in  the  room  and,  in  a 
tremulous  voice,  was  singing  her  granddaughter  to  sleep.     She, 
too,  was  singing  the  song : 

Oh,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee. 

Walpurga  and  Hansei  were  the  only  ones  at  the  table  and  he 
could  scarcely  eat  the  potatoes  as  fast  as  she  pared  them.  She 
would  always  put  the  best  and  finest  before  him.  "  Just  think  of 
it,  Hansei,"  said  she,  looking  so  happy  while  she  spoke  ;  "the  best 
things  in  the  world — sleep,  sunlight,  water,  eggs,  boiled  potatoes 
and  salt — are  all  the  same  in  the  palace  and  in  the  cottage.  The 
king  and  the  queen  can't  have  them  better  than  we,  and  the  very 
best  of  all  is  the  same  everywhere.  And  do  you  know  what  it 
is  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  good  kiss.  It  would  n't  be  any  better  from  the  queen's 
lips  than  from  yours ;  and  there  I  'm  like  the  king,  too,  especially 
when  I  'm  as  nicely  shaved  as  to-day,"  he  added,  taking  his  wife's 
hand  and  passing  it  over  his  smooth  chin. 

"  You  Ye  right ;  but  I  did  n't  mean  to  say  it  that  way.  Love  's 
the  same,  too.  It  can't  be  different  up  there  from  what  it  is  here." 

"  I  clo  n't  know  what 's  come  o'ver  you,"  said  Hansei.  "I  never 
thought  you  were  such  a  witch,  so  clever  and  so  wide  awake.  It 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  283 

provokes  me  that  people  should  be  so  familiar  with  you,  and  treat 
you  as  if  you  were  still  the  same  old  Walpurga," 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  I  'm  still  the  same,  or  else  I  should 
n't  be  your  wife." 

Hansei  stopped  chewing  the  potato  that  was  in  his  mouth  and 
stared  at  his  wife  in  surprise.  At  last  he  hurriedly  bolted  down 
the  potato  and  said  :  "  Now  that  joke  do  n't  please  me  at  all.  It  s 
wrong  to  joke  about  such  things."  Both  were  silent. 

In  the  next  room  sat  the  mother  singing : 

My  heart  doth  bear  a  burden, 
And  thou  hast  placed  it  there  ; 

And  the  song  seemed  to  touch  them  both. 

"I  Ve  got  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Hansei,  at  last.  "It 's 
been  my  habit,  for  the  last  year,  to  go  up  to  the  Chamois  after 
supper,  and  especially  on  Saturday  evenings.  Sometimes  I  Ve 
taken  a  drop,  and  sometimes  not ;  and  as  this  is  Saturday  and  as 
they  '11  all  be  there,  I  think  1  'd  better  go  up  once  more,  just  for 
your  sake." 

"  For  my  sake  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  fear  the  people  might  say :  « Now  he  's  got  to  duck 
under,  for  his  gracious  wife  has  come  home '." 

"  Why  do  you  always  worry  about  what  the  people  say  ?  Sup- 
pose they  were  to  say :  '  What  sort  of  a  man  is  this  ?  His  wife 
was  gone  for  a  year,  and  on  the  second  night  after  her  return,  he 
runs  off  to  the  inn  '  ?  " 

Hansei,  unable  to  parry  this  thrust,  stared  at  her  in  surprise. 
At  last  he  said  :  "  I  think  I  '11  go,  after  all.  You  won't  think  hard 
of  it,  will  you  ?  " 

"Go,  if  you  like,"  replied  Walpurga,  and  Hansei  hurried  off. 
Walpurga  looked  after  him,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Is 
this  what  I  've  so  longed  for?  "  thought  she  to  herself.  "Was  it 
for  this  that  I  thought  the  minutes  would  never  end,  and  felt  as  if 
I  must  chase  the  hours  away?  " 

Her  mother  came  in  and,  gently  closing  the  door,  said  :  "  She 


sleeps  sweetly." 

The  ruddy  glow  of  the  rosy  setting  sun  illumined  Walpurga 
countenance,  in  which,  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen,  a  great  change  had 


ic  ruddy  glow  of  the  rosy  setting  sun  illumined  Walpurga  s 

tenance,  in  which,  it  was  pla 
taken  place  since  that  sun  rose. 

The  child  again  began  to  cry.  The  grandmother  went  in  to  it. 
and  Walpurga  stealthily  hurried  in  the  direction  of  the  lakf;.  It 
was  night.  The  waves  were  softly  beating  on  the  shore  ;  the  reed- 
sparrow  was  still  chattering,  and  the  water-hens  kept  up  their 
twittering.  Far  up  on  the  mountain,  bright  fires  were  burning; 
for  it  was  Satur  lay  night,  and  the  mountain  lasses  were  looking 
out  for  their  svva  ns.  And  now  the  moon  rose  over  the  summit  of 
the  Chamois  hill  and  shone  upon  the  lake.  Walpurga,  as  if  lost 


284  O.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 


in  reverie,  stood  there,  for  some  time,  gazing  into  the  lake.  Then 
she  turned  towards  home,  but,  instead  of  going  into  the  room, 
quielly  stole  into  the  cellar.  With  almost  superhuman  strength, 
she  moved  the  stone  cabbage-tub  from  its  place,  dug  a  hole  in  the 
ground,  placed  the  money  that  Irma  had  given  her  in  it,  and 
shoved  the  cabbage-tub  back  into  its  place  again. 

She  was  washing  her  hands  at  th.-i  pump,  when  she  noticed  that 
her  mother  was  lighting  the  lamp  in  the  room.  She  went  in,  star- 
ing at  the  light. 

"  Why  do  you  stare  at  the  light  so  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

<:Well,  mother,  I  'm  not  used  to  a  single  light  any  more;  in 
the  palace,  there  are  ever  so  many." 

"But  the  people  there  have  only  one  pair  of  eyes,"  replied  the 
mother.  "  No,  my  child  ;  that 's  not  why  you  look  so  troubled. 
Tell  me  honestly,  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

Walpurga  frankly  confessed  that  it  almost  broke  her  heart  to 
think  that  her  husband  could  n't  stay  at  home  on  the  second  even- 
ing after  her  return,  but  must  go  to  the  inn. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  the  mother.  "  Yes,  I  've  been  think- 
ing about  your  hands.  I  've  noticed  that  you  wash  them  whenever 
you  've  touched  anything.  That 's  very  nice,  but  it  won't  do 
here.  Your  hand  's  become  soft  and  tender  this  last  year,  while 
mine  's  as  hard  as  leather ;  and  you  '11  soon  have  to  harden  your 
hands,  too.  For  God's  sake,  do  n't  make  your  husband  skittish, 
and  do  n't  give  him  an  ugly  word.  Take  my  word  for  it,  he 
could  n't  help  going  up  there  to-night,  and  it 's  Saturday  night  be- 
sides. It  was  just  as  if  six  horses  were  dragging  him.  He  's  got 
used  to  it,  and  habits  are  strong  things  that  can't  be  changed  at 
will.  He  's  not  bad  ;  I  'm  sure  of  that.  Let  him  have  his  own 
way,  just  as  he  's  used  to,  and  he  '11  soon  be  all  right  again." 

Walpurga  made  no  answer.  She  busied  herself  paring  potatoes 
for  her  mother,  who  went  on  to  say : 

"  The  things  that  are  God's  gifts  we  have  just  as  good  as  they 
have  them  in  the  palace." 

"There  !  we  've  saved  one  poor  soul,"  replied  Walpurga  with  a 
smile,  "I  said  the  very  same  words  to  Hansei,  a  little  while  ago." 

When  they  had  finished  paring  the  potatoes  for  the  next  day,  the 
mother  said  : 

••I  '11  tell  you  what.  Let 's  close  the  front  door,  and  sit  on  the 
little  seat  your  father  was  so  fond  of,  in  the  grassy  garden  back  of  the 
house.  There  we  can  talk  to  each  other  without  being  disturbed, 
and,  as  the  lights  are  out,  we  '11  have  no  visitors.  Nor  do  we  want 
any,  for  we  're  enough  by  ourselves." 

"  Oh  God  !  if  only  my  husband  felt  so,  too." 

"  Let  him  alone  at  the  inn.  Thank  God  that  we  Ve  alone  to- 
gether. Do  n't  act  like  a  deposed  queen  ;  it  only  makes  it  so  much 
the  harder  for  you." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  285 

Mother  and  daughter  went  out  through  the  back  door  that  led 
to  the  little  garden,  where  they  seated  themselves  on  a  bench  which 
stood  against  the  well  and  opposite  the  stable  window,  and  left  the 
back  door  ajar  so  that  they  might  hear  the  child  if  it  should  cry. 
They  heard  nothing,  however,  except  the  noise  made  by  the  cows 
while  feeding.  The  moon  was  high,  and  the  shimmering  surface 
of  the  lake  reflected  its  rays.  Now  and  then,  the  yodel  of  some 
distant  mountaineer,  the  barking  of  a  dog,  or  the  soft  plashing  of 
an  oar,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  silence. 

"If  the  first  two  weeks  were  only  over,"  said  Walpurga,  "I'd 
be  better  used  to  it." 

"  Do  n't  wish  for  time  to  pass.     It  comes  and  goes  of  itself." 

"  Yes,  mother ;  tell  me  everything  I  'm  to  do,  I  do  n't  care  to 
have  my  own  will  now." 

"  That  won't  do,  either.  Those  who  can  walk  alone  must  fall 
alone." 

"  I  '11  try  to  do  my  best." 

"  Very  well.  Tell  me  one  thing :  how  is  it  in  the  palace  about 
now?  " 

"  About  now  ?  Dear  me,  it  seems  two  years  since  I  left  there. 
By  this  time,  the  lamps  have  been  lit  in  all  the  passage  ways,  and 
down  stairs,  where  the  king  and  the  queen  are,  they  're  just  about 
leaving  the  table.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  Made- 
moiselle Kramer  is  reading  her  book.  She  reads  a  book  through 
every  day  ;  and  my  prince.  O  you  poor  child — " 

Walpurga  burst  into  tears.  At  the  same  moment,  her  own 
cbild  began  to  cry  and  the  two  women  hurried  in. 

"It  was  only  dreaming,"  said  the  mother  softly.  "The  child 
must  feel  that  the  right  mother  is  come." 

Walpurga  again  felt  conscious  of  the  double  life  she  was  leading. 

Although  she  was  at  home,  her  thoughts  were  still  at  the  palace. 
Everything  seemed  confused  and  indistinct,  and  when  she  found 
herself  again  sitting  on  the  bench  at  her  mother's  side,  she  was 
obliged  to  stop  and  consider  where  she  was. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  mother,  "that  those-who  possess  so 
many  worldly  gifts  as  the  king  and  queen  and  the  quality  have, 
can't  take  much  time  to  think  of  the  heavenly  life  hereafter." 

Walpurga  told  her  how  pious  they  all  were  at  court,  and  that 
the  queen,  although  a  Protestant,  was  especially  so. 

They  conversed  with  each  other  in  calm  and  gentle  tones. 
Walpurga  rested  her  head  against  her  mother's  heart  and,  at  last, 
fell  asleep  there.  The  mother  held  her  in  her  embrace,  scarcely 
[venturing  to  breathe,  lest  she  might  waken  her.  After  they  had 
neen  sitting  there  awhile,  she  awakened  Walpurga  and  told  her 
*:hat  she  might  catch  cold  and  had  better  go  to  bed.  Walpurga 
scarcely  knew  where  she  was  and,  while  still  rubbing  her  eyes, 
she  asked  :  "  Is  n't  my  husband  home  yet  ?  " 


286  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Just  go  to  bed,  I'll  help  you,"  said  the  mother,  and  she  un- 
dressed Walpurga,  as  if  s"he  were  a  little  child.  Then  she  sat  down 
by  the  bed  and,  taking  her  daughter's  hand  in  hers,  said  :  "  You 
see,  it  's  a  queer  thing  when  people  who  belong  together  have 
lived  apart  -for  a  long  time.  They  Ve  become  used  to  getting 
along  without  each  other,  and  the  only  thing  to  do,  is  to  wait 
till  they  grow  used  to  each  other  again.  Take  precious  good  care 
that  you  never  speak  an  unkind  word,  and  don't  dare  to  think  to 
yourself:  'If  I  only  were  away  again,  and  out  in  the  world.'  If 
you  harbor  such  thoughts,  you  '11  be  like  a  tree  cut  off  at  its  roots 
and  transplanted — it  must  die.  Mind  what  I  tell  you  !  Whenever 
you  can  change  anything  according  to  your  own  notion,  do  so  ; 
but  you  'd  better  not  attempt  to  alter  what  can't  be  altered.  Make 
up  your  mind  that  it  's  got  to  be  as  it  is,  and  submit.  There  's 
nothing  so  silly,  in  all  the  world,  as  to  wish  for  what  you  can't 
have.  When  the  wind  blows  and  the  rain  descends,  you  '11  often 
hear  people  say  :  '  If  it  were  only  fine  weather  to-day.'  We  can't 
change  the  weather  outside  of  us  ;  but  we  can  see  to  it  that  there  's 
fair  weather  inside.  And  what  I  was  going  to  say  is  :  see  that  you 
have  fair  weather  within  yourself  and  then  all  will  be  well." 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"Make  an  effort  this  very  night.  Promise  me,  faithfully,  that  if 
you  're  awake  when  your  husband  comes  home,  you  '11  say  to  him, 
cheerfully,  'God  greet  you,  Hansei' !  " 

"I  can't  do  that,  mother;  indeed,  I  can't." 

"  But  I  tell  you  you  must  be  able  to  do  it,  or  else  you  're  not  a 
true  wife  and  mother,  and  every  piece  of  gold  you  've  brought 
home  with  you  will  be  as  if  a  fiery  demon  were  lurking  in  it.  You 
promised  to  obey  me,  and  at  the  very  start  you  refuse." 

"Yes,  mother;  I  '11  try  my  best." 

"Well,  then,  good  night,"  said  the  mother,  and  returned  to  her 
room. 

Walpurga  lay  there  in  silence.  Anger  and  sorrow  kept  her 
awake.  Her  child  had  become  estranged  from  her,  her  husband 
had  acquired  bad  habits  and  preferred  the  society  of  his  comrades 
to  hers.  For  whose  sake  had  she  imposed  the  heavy  burden  upon 
herself?  For  whose  sake  had  she  gone  among  strangers  to  earn 
all  that  she  had  brought  home  with  her,  and  for  whom  had  she 
kept  herself  so  pure  ?  She  wet  her  pillow  with  bitter  tears.  But 
suddenly  an  inner  voice  said  to  her :  "  Do  you  mean  to  take  credit 
to  yourself  for  having  been  honest  ?  Were  you  honest  for  yourself, 
or  for  others  ?  and  were  n't  they  obliged  to  suffer,  too,  in  taking 
everything  upon  themselves  ?  Ought  n't  you  to  thank  God  that 
they  did  n't  die  of  grief? — Yes,  that  was  all  very  well ;  but  now 
they  ought  to  be  heartily  glad  and  grateful — I  can't  expect  it 
of  the  child,  for  that 's  too  young  to  know ;  but  my  husband — he 
has  sense  enough,  when  he  feels  like  it.  And  have  I  gained  all 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  28? 

this  only  to  be  a  hostess  to  the  whole  world  ?  No,  I  Ve  earned  it, 
and  I've  a  right —  For  God's  sake!  'A  right?  There's  the 
trouble.  When  the  one  always  insists  upon  claiming  his  rights 
from  the  other,  it 's  just  like  hell  itself — I  do  n't  want  any  rights  ; 
I  Ve  got  no  rights  ;  I  want  nothing  at  all.  All  I  wish. is  to  be  an 
obedient  wife  and  a  good  mother —  Dear  Lord,  assist  me  if  I  'm 
not  one." 

Heavy  steps  were  heard  approaching.  Hansei  entered,  and, 
with  cheerful  voice,  Walpurga  exclaimed  :  "  God  greet  you,  Han- 
se: !  I  'm  glad  that  you  Ve  found  me  still  awake." 

"I  Ve  won  the  bet !  I  Ve  won  it ! "  exclaimed  Hansei  with  a 
loud  voice.  "  There  's  two  men  standing  out  there  under  the 
window.  We  had  a  wager  together  and  I  Ve  won  six  measures 
of  wine  from  them.  They  said  that  the  best  proof  of  a  wife  is  the 
way  she  receives  her  husband  when  he  returns  from  the  tavern,  or 
when  he  awakes  her  out  of  her  sleep.  I  told  them  :  '  I  know  my 
wife.  When  I  get  home,  she  '11  be  kind  and  friendly  to  me.'  But 
they  would  n't  believe  a  word  of  it.  And  so  we  Ve  had  a  wager, 
and  I  Ve  won  it ;  and  if  all  the  wine  in  the  whole  world  were 
mine,  it  would  n't  please  me  half  so  much  as  to  know  that  I  was 
right." 

Hansei  opened  the  shutters  of  the  window  towards  the  lake, 
and  called  out :  "  Now  you  Ve  heard  it,  friends.  You  can  go  now  ; 
I  Ve  won  the  wine.  Good  night !  " 

Walpurga  pulled  the  cover  over  her  head.  There  was  laughter 
outside,  and  the  two  men  departed.  For  a  minute  or  two,  the 
bright  moonlight  shone  into  the  lowly  cottage,  and  then  the  shutter 
was  closed  again. 

CHAPTER     V. 

WHEN  Hansei  awoke  the  next  morning,  the  cows  were  already 
milked,  and  the  house  looked  so  bright  and  clean  that  it 
seemed  as  if  one  of  the  kind  fairies  that  dwelt  on  the  mountains 
had  been  putting  things  to  rights.  A  pot  of  blooming,  scarlet 
pinks  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  table,  over  which  a  neat,  white 
cloth  had  been  spread  ;  and,  as  if  to  hide  the  dingy  flower  pot  from 
view,  a  garland  of  leaves  had  been  twined  around  it. 

"You've  been  industrious,"  said  Hansei,  and  Walpurga  an- 
swered :  "  Yes,  my  thoughts  wandered  far  away  into  the  world, 
and  have  come  back  again.  You  see,  the  quality  have  all  that  one 
can  wish  for,  but  do  you  know  what  they  have  n't  got  ?  " 

"No." 

'  They  Ve  no  Sunday ;  and  do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know  that,  either." 

"  Because  they've  no  real  workdays.  In  the  palace,  when  you 
get  up  in  the  murning,  your  boots  and  shoes  are  ready  at  your  door, 


288  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

just  as  if  they  had  blackened  themselves.  The  coffee  is  ready  ot 
itself,  the  bread  has  baked  itself,  the  paths  have  swept  themselves 
clean,  and  everything  is  attended  to,  one  hardly  knows  how.  But 
to  do  ever) thing  with  your  own  hands — Just  see  !  to-day,  I  've 
already  put  my  hand  under  your  feet ;  I  've  cleaned  your  shoes." 

"  You  must  n't  do  that ;  that 's  no  \vork  for  you.  Do  n't  you  do 
it  again." 

"  Very  well,  1  won  t  do  it  again.  But  to-day  I  've  done  every- 
thing, and  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  happy  I  felt  when  I  went  after 
the  first  pail  of  water.  It  went  hard  at  first,  but  I  managed  it, 
after  all.  And  now  I  'm  longing  for  breakfast.  Since  the  day  I 
left  home,  I  Ve  never  once  been  so  hungry  as  I  now  am." 

When  the  grandmother  came,  bringing  the  child  with  her,  she, 
too,  was  surprised,  and  said  :  "  Walpurga,  you  '11  turn  our  cottage 
into  a  palace." 

With  joyful  mien,  Hansei  told  her  of  all  that  Walpurga  had 
been  doing,  and  the  mother  said:  "She's  right;  an  industrious 
home  is  the  happiest  home,  and  now,  just  because  you  've  got 
some  means,  you  must  work  so  much  the  more.  For  where  there  's 
idleness,  riches  take  wings  to  themselves ;  but  if  you  're  always 
adding  something,  no  matter  how  little,  to  your  store,  the  old  is 
likely  to  stay." 

"I  don't  think  we  need  go  to  church  to-day,"  said  Hansei, 
•'mother  's  giving  us  the  best  benediction." 

••  Yes,  but  we  '11  go  to  church,  for  all  that,"  replied  Walpurga. 
"  All  the  time  I  was  away,  I  've  looked  forward  to  this  first  going 
to  church.  What  a  fine  day  it  is  !  I  do  n't  believe  there  ever  was 
such  lovely  weather."  Their  intercourse  was  full  of  happiness. 
The  only  drawback  was  that  the  child  still  refused  to  go  to  Wal- 
purga. 

Walpurga  told  her  mother  that  everything  had  been  well 
attended  to  during  her  absence,  but  she  was  displeased  at  one 
thing. 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  did  n't  get  yourself  a  servant." 

The  old  woman  smiled.  She  could  never  do  that.  She  did  n't 
know  how  she  could  ever  order  a  servant  about.  And  now  Hansei 
said  he  would  n't  allow  his  wife  to  overwork  herself,  and  that  there 
must  be  a  servant  in  the  house. 

The  grandmother  recommended  one  of  her  brother's  children 
from  over  the  mountains.  So  it  was  decided  that  they  should  send 
word  to  Uncle  Peter  to  come,  and  bring  one  of  his  daughters  with 
him. 

The  morning  v  as  clear  and  bracing,  and  Hansei,  who  had  put 
on  his  snow-whit',  shirt,  said,  while  lighting  his  pipe  : 

"  Walpurga.  let  your  mother  work  a  little  while,  and  come  out 
into  the  garden." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  289 

He  was  sitting  on  the  bench  under  the  cherry  tree.  Walpurga 
soon  joined  him  and,  after  the  fashion  of  women,  said  that  she 
could  only  remain  for  a  short  time,  that  she  had  various  matters  to 
attend  to,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  at  church  in  good  season. 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  Hansei  said :  "  Why  do  n't  you 
say  something?  you  must  have  lots  to  tell  about." 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything  now.  Just  wait,  it  '11  all  come  in 
time.  It's  happiness  enough  that  we 're  together  again.  If  we, 
all  of  us,  only  keep  well.  I  think  our  cherry  tree  has  grown." 

"  And  now  that  I  think  of  it,  you  Ve  had  no  cherries  from  it  this 
year.  I  '11  climb  up  and  get  some  for  you,  and  if  I  could  get  up, 
way  beyond  the  tree,  and  bring  down  the  blue  sky  for  you,  I  'd  do 
it." 

He  climbed  up  the  tree,  and  cried  out :  "  Shoo !  you  sparrows, 
you  've  had  enough.  My  old  woman  's  here  again,  but  she  's  a 
young  one,  still,  and  wants  some,  too.  You  've  had  your  wiv^s 
with  you  the  whole  year,  and  I  have  n't."  He  hurriedly  plucked 
the  finest  cherries,  singing  the  while : 

In  cherry  time,  you  left  me,  dear ; 
In  cherry  time,  again  you  "re  here. 
The  cherries  they  are  black  and  red, 
And  I  '11  love  my  darling  till  I  'm  dead. 

Suddenly  he  called  out :  "Walpurga,  I  must  come  down,  I  can't 
get  any  more  for  you,  I  'm  so  giddy." 

He  was  soon  on  the  ground  again  and  said  :  "That  never  hap- 
pened to  me  before,  in  all  my  life,  and  I  've  been  up  there  many  a 
half  day  at  a  time.  I  suppose  its  our  good  fortune  that  makes  me 
so  giddy.  I  '11  never  climb  a  tree  again,  I  promise  you  that.  It 
would  be  a  terrible  thing  if  I  were  to  fall  down.  We  must  take 
care  that  we  keep  well  and  hearty,  and  stick  to  each  other.  I 
do  n't  want  to  break  my  legs.  I  want  to  dance  with  you  yet.  I  '11 
dance  with  you  at  Burgei's  wedding.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  hear 
the  music  already.  Hark  !  do  n't  you  hear  anything?  " 

"  No.  It  '11  be  a  long  while  before  the  music  for  Burgei's  wed- 
ding is  struck  up." 

"  And  she  must  get  a  good  husband  ;  I  won't  have  it  otherwise. 
What  do  you  think  of  a  prince  ?  but  I  '11  be  quiet,  for  I  'm  talking 
nothing  but  silly  stuff.  I  scarcely  know  what  I  'm  saying,  where  I 
am,  or  who  I  am,  and — " 

"We  're  at  home,  and  you  're  my  husband  and  that 's  all  of  it. 
You  '11  see,  I  have  something  else  good  in  store  for  you." 

"Tell  me  nothing,  and  promise  me  nothing  more.  I've  got 
enough  already.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  we  've  a  child.  It  seems 
as  if  we  were  just  married." 

In  a  soft  voice,  too  low  for  any  passer-by  to  hear  it  and  just  loud 
snough  for  them  to  know  they  were  singing,  they  sang : 
13 


290  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Oh,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee. 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by, 
When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

Just  like  the  finch  who  never  wearies  of  repeating  his  song,  they 
sang  the  same  words  over  and  over  again.  They  had  nothing 
more  to  tell  each  other,  for  they  were  unspeakably  happy.  The 
church  bell  now  began  tolling.  Its  sounds,  floating  over  the  lake, 
were  echoed  back  from  the  forests  and  mountains.  A  wagon  was 
seen  coming  from  the  village  and  Walpurga  said  :  "  We  must 
get  ready  for  church." 

They  went  into  the  house.  The  mother  had  already  brought 
Hansei  his  royal  Sunday  suit.  They  soon  heard  the  cracking  of  a 
whip  and  a  voice  cried  out:  "  Are  you  coming?  "  Hansei  put  his 
head  .out  of  the  window  and  asked  :  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  Cov- 
ering herself  with  a  large  sheet,  \Valpurga  looked  out  of  the  low 
window.  The  innkeeper's  head-servant,  who  was  standing  by  the 
wagon  out  in  the  road,  answered  : 

"  My  master  sends  you  his  wagon,  so  that  you  may  drive  to 
church." 

"Walpurga,  do  you  wish  to  ride?  "  asked  Hansei,  at  the  closed 
chamber  door. 

"  No,  I  '11  walk.  I  beg  of  you,  Hansei,  send  the  wagon  away ; 
I  Ve  had  enough  riding."  Hansei  went  out.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  innkeeper,  with  his  military  medal  glittering  on  his  breast, 
arrived. 

Hansei  thanked  him,  but  said  that  his  wife  did  n't  care  to  ride. 
But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  deny  the  innkeeper,  who  waited  until 
Walpurga  came  out  of  the  house. 

She  was  not  long  dressing  herself,  and  that  is  saying  a  great 
deal ;  for  this  was  to  be  her  first  appearance  at  church  and  she 
knew  that  all  eyes  would  be  directed  upon  her.  When  she  came 
out,  clad  in  tasteful  attire,  the  innkeeper  said : 

"  You  must  do  me  the  honor  of  letting  me  drive  you  and  your 
husband  to  church." 

"  I  'm  still  quite  sound  on  my  feet,  and  shall  be  glad  to  have  a 
good  walk  again." 

"  You  can  do  that,  too  ;  but  not  on  the  first  Sunday.  We  'd  feel 
ashamed  before  the  folks  who  live  in  the  wilderness  and  out  at  the 
Windenreuthe,  if  we  did  n't  show  them  that  we  know  how  to  treat 
a  woman  like  yourself  with  proper  respect.  We  're  all  proud  of 
you." 

"  Thanks.     Do  n't  think  hard  of  it,  but  I  won't  ride." 

Walpurga  was  not  to  be  moved.  The  innkeeper  was  about  to 
give  vent  to  his  anger,  but,  fearing  the  consequences,  he  restrained 
himself  and,  with  smiling  mien,  said  : 

'•  I  ought  to  have  known  as  much.     Walking  's  a  great  treat  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  291 

the  quality.  Yes,  indeed  ! "  He  laughed  at  his  own  cleverness 
and  sent  the  wagon  home  again.  He  kept  smiling  till  he  had  a 
chance  to  turn  his  back  on  Hansei  and  Walpurga,  when  his  face 
assumed  quite  an  angry  expression.  He  went  home,  took  off  his 
coat  with  the  medal,  hung  it  up  in  the  closet,  and  wished  he  could 
haug  himself  in  the  same  manner.  Who  could  tell  but  what  Wal- 
purga would  interfere  both  with  all  his  fun  and  the  handsome  re- 
ceiots  he  expected  that  day. 

Walpurga  and  Hansei  started  off  by  the  road  along  the  lake,  the 
grandmother,  with  the  child  on  her  arm,  standing  at  the  garden 
hedge  and  looking  after  them.  She  softly  repeated  to  the  child : 
"mother,"  and  it  suddenly  called  out  "mother"  in  a  loud  voice. 
Walpurga  turned  round  and  wanted  to  hug  the  child,  but  it  again 
tried  to  hide  from  her,  and  cried  when  she  attempted  to  kiss 
it.  Hansei  stood  by,  and  was  so  vexed  that  he  raised  his  hand  as 
if  to  strike  the  child,  but  Walpurga  pacified  him  and  said :  "  We 
must  wait." 

The  second  bell  was  ringing,  and  they  hurried  on.  On  the  way, 
they  were  joined  by  men,  women  and  children  coming  from  the 
village  and  various  farms  in  the  neighborhood.  Hansei  longed  to 
drive  them  away,  and  he  once  said,  softly,  "  I  'd  like  to  go  with 
you,  alone." 

"Be  patient,"  said  Walpurga,  "don't  begrudge  them  their  de- 
light in  our  happiness."  She  was  affable  to  all.  Hansei  looked 
out  over  the  lake,  then  up  at  the  sky,  and  then  again  at  his  wife,  as 
if  to  say:  "She  's  here  again."  He  smiled  when  he  heard  the 
children  saying :  "  She  's  the  grandest  peasant  now — she  comes 
right  after  the  queen." 

The  third  bell,  or  the  ringing  in,  which  generally  lasts  a  full  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  had  just  begun,  when  Hansei  and  his  wife  reached 
the  church.  Many  churchgoers  were  standing  about  in  groups  and 
welcomed  them.  There  was  still  time  to  remain  there,  chatting  for 
awhile  ;  but  Walpurga  took  her  husband's  hand  and  went  into  the 
church  with  him.  They  were  the  first  to  enter.  Walpurga  took 
her  usual  seat  in  the  place  allotted  to  the  women,  and  Hansei  went 
into  that  assigned  to  the  men.  Thus  they  were  together  and  yet 
apart.  The  bells  overhead  were  still  ringing  out  their  merry  peal, 
while  they  sat  there1  in  silent  introspection.  Once  only  did  Hansei 
nod  to  his  wife,  but  she  shook  her  head  deprecatingly.  The  play- 
ing of  the  organ  began,  and  the  people  poured  into  church.  Wal- 
purga knt:w  that  such  and  such  a  one  was  near  her,  but  she  did 
not  wish  co  be  welcomed  or  greeted  by  any  one  in  such  a  place. 
She  felt  that  the  eye  of  the  Invisible  One  was  resting  upon  her. 

The  pastor  preached  of  the  return  to  the  everlasting  home.  It 
seemed  as  if  his  words  were  intended  for  Hansei  and  Walpurga ; 
as  if  he  were  speaking  only  to  them. 

When  the  sermon  was  over  and  prayers  were  offered  for  the 


292  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

king,  the  queen  and  the  royal  family,  there  was  strange  whisper 
ing  in  the  church.  Walpurga  felt  that  all  eyes  were  directed  upon 
her,  and  did  not  look  up. 

The  service  was  over.  The  congregation  left  the  church  and 
Walpurga  was  now  welcomed  by  the  late  comers. 

The  sexton  came  to  Walpurga  and  Hansei,  and  said  that  the 
pastor  wished  to  see  them  in  the  vestry.  They  went  in.  The 
pastor  again  welcomed  them,  spoke  of  their  good  fortune  and  ad- 
monished them  to  be  humble. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Hansei,  "my  mother-in-law  said  aln.ost  the 
very  same  thing." 

The  pastor  promised  to  visit  them  before  long,  and  said  that  he 
was  proud  to  have  such  a  woman  among  his  parishioners.  Hansei 
put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  check  him,  and  felt  like  answering : 
"What  's  the  use  of  your  warning  us  against  pride  when  you  tell 
us  such  things  yourself?"  The  pastor  motioned  him  to  be  quiet, 
and  went  on  to  say :  "  I  shall  visit  the  capital  next  week,  and  you 
must  do  me  the  favor,  Walpurga,  to  give  me  a  letter  to  Countess 
von  Wildenort." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Walpurga. 

When  they  were  out  of  doors  again,  Hansei  looked  at  his  wife 
from  head  to  foot.  And  so  even  the  pastor  would  ask  his  wife  to 
intercede  for  him.  Yes,  she  was  a  splendid  wife,  if  all  that 
could  n't  turn  her  head. 

"Oh  Hansei,"  said  Walpurga  suddenly,  "what  a  pack  of  fools 
they  all  are.  They  do  all  they  can  to  make  one  proud,  and  if  one 
were  to  become  so,  they  'd  do  nothing  but  abuse  you." 

Hansei  was  on  the  point  of  saying  that  he  had  thought  the  very 
same  thing,  but,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  do  so,  he  saw  Schneck 
the  tailor  coming  down  the  mountain  side,  and  carrying  his  great 
bass  viol.  The  weak  and  delicate  looking  man,  with  the  great  in- 
strument on  his  back,  presented  quite  an  odd  appearance. 

"  Heigho  !  why  here  's  the  wedding  party,"  exclaimed  the  tailor, 
while  he  left  the  meadow  path  and  ran  up  the  road  to  shake  hands 
with  Hansei  and  Walpurga. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  play  for  you  to-day." 

"  For  us  ?     Who  ordered  you  ?  " 

"What  a  pity  my  wife  did  n't  live  to  see  this  day.  How  happy 
it  would  have  made  her.  Do  n't  you  know  about  it  ?  There  's 
going  to  be  a  great  feast  at  the  Chamois,  in  honor  of  your  return, 
Walpurga,  and  the  innkeeper  has  engaged  me  and  six  other 
musicians.  The  forest  keeper,  the  chief  forester,  all  the  judges  of 
the  court,  and  even  body  for  six  leagues  around,  have  been  invited. 
How  stupid  that  I  've  only  got  my  bass  viol  with  me,  or  else  I  'd 
play  you  a  piece,  right  here  on  the  road." 

"There  you  have  it,"  whispered  Walpurga  to  her  husband,  "  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  293 

innkeeper  makes  money  out  of  everything.  If  he  only  could  do  it, 
he  'd  have  fiddle  strings  stretched  over  my  back,  and  have  the  skin 
drawn  off  of  yov  to  make  drum-heads  with." 

"Go  on;  we  '11  follow,"  said  Hansei  to  the  tailor.  He  was 
annoyed  when  others  joined  them  on  their  way  home.  He  wanted 
to  be  alone  with  his  wife.  No  one  should  have  a  share  of  her ; 
she  belonged  to  him  alone. 

"  It  '11  soon  be  a  year  since  we  sat  on  this  pile  of  stones.  Do 
you  remember?  It  must  have  been  somewhere  about  here,"  ex- 
claimed Hansei,  with  joyous  voice. 

Walpurga  gave  an  evasive  answer.  She  told  Hansei  that  she 
thought  it  a  stupid  piece  of  business  for  the  innkeeper  to  make  a 
fesfival  of  her  return,  but  that  she  would  n't  put  foot  in  the 
Chamois  for  all  his  music. 

Hansei  had  not  thought  so  ill  of  the  projected  entertainment ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  had  found  pleasure  in  the  idea  of  setting  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd,  with  his  wife  by  his  side  and  all  the  people 
frisking  about  him.  That  was  more  than  Grubersepp,  with  all  his 
money,  could  get.  It  was  not  without  a  struggle,  that  he,  at  last, 
said  :  "  Just  as  you  please ;  you  ought  to  know  best  whether  it 's 
proper  for  you." 

As  soon  as  the  afternoon  service  was  over,  crowds,  on  their 
way  to  the  Chamois,  were  seen  hurrying  through  the  village  in 
carriages,  on  horseback,  or  afoot.  The  sound  of  the  music  could 
be  heard  from  afar,  and  the  tones  of  tailor  Schneck's  bass  viol 
were  heard  over  all. 

"  If  I  could  only  hide  myself  from  them,"  said  Walpurga. 
"That  's  easily  done,  "  said  Hansei,  triumphantly,  "that's  all 
right.     Let  us  go  off  together,  by  ourselves." 

He  went  out  through  the  back  door  and  into  the  back  garden 
and  loosened  the  boat  from  the  spile.     While  the  chain  rattled  over 
its  side,  Walpurga  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart  and  said  : 
"  You  Ve  loosened  a  chain  from  my  heart." 
They  got  into  the  boat  and  pushed  off,  and,  like  an  arrow,  the 
slender  bark  snot  out  over  the  smooth  waters  of  the  lake. 

"The  pastor  meant  to  come,"  said  Walpurga,  when  they  had 
gone  some  distance. 

"  He  can  come  some  other  time ;  he  won't  run  away,"  thought 
Hansei.  "  We  're  rowing  together,  just  as  we  did  when  we  were 
betrothed." 

Walpurga  also  seized  the  oars.  She  and  Hansei  sat  face  to  face. 
The  four  oars  rose  and  fell  as  if  it  were  a  single  hand  that  plied 
them.  Neither  spoke  a  word  ;  there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  The 
happy  glances  they  bestowed  on  each  other  were  full  of  eloquence, 
and  the  equal  stroke  of  the  oars  told  the  whole  story. 

When  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  lake,  they  heard  loud 
music  from  the  shore,  and,  looking  back,  saw  a  great  crowd, 
accompanied  by  the  band,  in  front  of  their  house. 


294  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Thank  God  !  we  Ve  escaped  that,"  said  Hansei. 

They  rowed  on,  further  and  further,  and  went  ashore  on  the 
opposite  bank  where,  holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  they  walked 
up  the  hill.  They  soon  reached  a  bluff,'  where  they  rested  for 
auhile.  At  last,  Hansei  said: 

'  Walpurga,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  do  n't  want  to  be  the  land- 
lady of  the  Chamois.  Tell  me  frankly,  is  it  so?  " 

'  Xo,  I  do  n't ;  but  if  you  r'e  really  bent  upon  it — " 

'  I  want  nothing  that  does  n't  suit  you." 

'  Nor  do  I  want  anything  that  displeases  you." 

'  And  so  we  '11  let  the  innkeeper  go  his  own  way  ?  " 

•Gladly." 

'We  can  wait." 

'  We  can  remain  as  we  are,  for  the  present." 

'We  '11  soon  find  a  good  chance." 

'The  money  won't  grow  mouldy." 

'  Xor  will  you.    I've  got  a  brand-new  wife.    Hurrah!  hurrah!" 

Their  voices  joined  in  merry  song,  and  they  felt  as  if  relieved 
from  a  self-imposed  burden. 

"  They  may  make  sport  of  me,  as  much  as  they  please,  as  long 
as  we  're  happy  together,"  said  Hansei. 

"  Hansei,  I  '11  never  forget  you  for  that.  There  's  something 
else  coming,  too." 

"  There  need  n't  be  anything  more.  All  I  ask  for  is  that  we 
may  keep  what  we  have." 

They  sat  there  for  a  long  while,  and  at  last  Walpurga  said : 

"Oh!  how  beautiful  the  world  is.  If  we  could  only  always 
remain  together  thus.  There  's  nothing'  more  beautiful  than  to  sit 
here  and  look  at  the  lake,  through  the  green  leaves  and  the  gray 
boughs.  There  are  two  skies,  one  above  and  one  below.  Hansei, 
we  have  two  heavens,  too,  and  I  almost  think  that  the  one  on  earth 
is  the  lovelier  of  the  two." 

"  Yes,  but  joy  has  made  me  hungry  and  thirsty ;  I  must  have 
something  to  eat." 

They  descended  to  a  quiet,  desolate  looking  village  that  lay  near 
by.  Here  and  there,  people  wrere  seated  before  their  doors,  chat- 
ting and  yawning,  to  while  away  the  sultry  hour  of  noon.  But 
Walpurga  said: 

"Oh  Hansei,  how  beautiful  everything  is!  Just  look  at  that 
wheelbarrow,  and  that  pile  of  wood,  and  that  house —  I  don't 
know  what 's  the  matter  with  me,  but  I  feel  quite  dizzy,  and  as  if 
everything  were  smiling  at  me." 

"  You  must  have  something  to  eat  and  drink ;  you  're  quite 
beside  yourself." 

They  found  the  inn-parlor  untenanted,  except  by  myriads  of  flies. 
"  They  've  got  lots  of  guests  here,  but  they  do  n't  pay  anything," 
said  Hansei,  and  they  both  laughed  with  all  their  might.     They 
were  so  happy  that  the  merest  trifle  provoked  them  to  laughter. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  29$ 

After  repeated  calls,  the  landlady  appeared,  bringing  some  sour 
wine  and  stale  bread  ;  but  it  was  quite  palatable,  nevertheless. 

They  left  and,  when  evening  came  on,  rowed  about  the  lake  for  a 
long  while.  The  evening  dews  were  already  falling,  when  Hansei, 
pointing  towards  a  distant  bare  spot  in  the  forest,  said :  "  That  '3 
our  meadow." 

Walpurga  seemed  busied  with  other  thoughts.  She  rested  hei 
oars  and  exclaimed : 

"  The  little  house  over  there  is  our  home,  and  there  's  our  child. 
I  do  n't  know  how  it  is —  She  could  not  express  her  feelings, 
but  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  fly  away  and  hover  over  the  sea  and 
the  mountains,  with  all  that  belonged  to  her.  She  gazed  earnestly 
at  Hansei,  until  he  at  last  said  : 

"  Of  course  it 's  our  little  house ;  and  our  cows,  and  our  tables, 
and  our  chairs,  and  our  beds,  are  all  there.  Walpurga,  you  've 
become  a  foolish  thing ;  everything  seems  strange  to  you." 

"  You  're  right,  Hansei.  Only  have  patience  with  me.  I  'm 
just  coming  home  to  it  all  again." 

She  had,  at  first,  almost  felt  mortified  at  Hansei's  words.  He 
had  taken  her  expressions  so  literally,  and  had  not  appreciated  her 
high-strung  feelings.  But  she  quickly  regained  her  self-control, 
and  realized  how  changed  she  had  become,  and  that  all  this  was 
out  of  place  here. 

They  returned  home,  and  slipped  into  the  house  through  the 
back  door.  They  found  everything  quiet  and  in  good  order. 
They  did  not  care  for  the  people  outside,  or  for  their  merry-making. 
They  were  enough  to  each  other. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

WERE  these  the  same  villagers  who  had  talked  so  scandalously 
of  Walpurga  when,  at  Christmas  time,  the  new  clothes  had 
come  for  Hansei  and  the  mother?  Had  they  suddenly  become 
kind  and  loving  ? 

It  seemed,  at  first,  as  if  they  had  really  raised  themselves  to  the 
noblest  height,  that  of  pure  sympathy. 

But  now —  If  there  had  been  a  weather-cock  to  mark  the  feel- 
ings of  men,  it  would  have  turned  quite  suddenly. 

It  all  came  about  quite  naturally. 

There  were  few  amusements  still  left  to  the  villagers.  The 
church  and  state  authorities  had  ruled  with  a  severe  hand.  It 
was,  therefore,  no  trifle  that  the  members  of  the  provincial  court 
would  permit  music  in  midsummer,  in  honor  of  the  prince's  nurse, 
for  the  sanction  of  the  authorities  was  required,  even  for  music. 

All  were  delighted  except,  of  course,  Grubersepp,  who  made  a 
wry  face  at  their  noisy  doings,  and,  after  he  had  taken  his  comfort- 
able afternoon  nap,  went  out  to  his  fields.  Such  a  noise  and  fuss 


296  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

about  nothing  at  all,  would  do  very  well  for  the  little  farmers,  the 
woodcutters,  the  boatmen  and  the  fishermen  ;  but  it  should  not 
interest  a  rich,  sober-minded  farmer. 

But  when  they  found  that  Walpurga  and  Hansei  had  gone  away, 
and  that  the  cream  of  the  joke  was  thus  spoiled;  when  even  the 
country  justice  said  that  their  behavior  was  shameful,  there  was 
quite  a  revulsion  of  sentiment,  and  many  who  had  gone  to  the  cot- 
tage by  the  lake  in  order  to  do  honor  to  its  inmates,  now  began  to 
think  of  what  tricks  they  might  play  Hansei  and  his  haughty  wife. 
There  were  many  ways  of  annoying  them,  such  as  cutting  off  the 
cows'  tails,  nailing  up  the  doors,  breaking  the  windows —  They 
were  quite  ingenious  in  inventing  all  sorts  of  mean  tricks,  but  the 
presence  of  the  justice  acted  as  an  uncomfortable  restraint.  So  the 
crowd  returned  to  the  inn  and  amused  themselves  by  inveighing 
against  the  he-nurse  and  his  stupid  wife.  By  degrees,  however, 
another  change  in  feeling  took  place.  There  are  many  who  rejoice 
in  another's  misfortunes,  and  they  chuckled  over  the  landlord's 
disappointment.  The  feast  and  the  great  earnings  he  had  ex- 
pected, had  both  been  failures,  for  the  better  portion  of  the  com- 
pany soon  drove  off,  leaving  him  enough  roast  meats  and  cakes  on 
hand  to  last  a  week.  Out  in  the  kitchen,  the  hostess  was  weeping 
with  anger  and  vexation,  which  she  would  gladly  have  vented  upon 
her  husband.  There  was  lively  talking  on  all  sides,  and  they  found 
it  a  great  joke  to  make  sport  of  the  innkeeper,  and  to  advise  him 
to  add  the  day's  loss  to  the  price  of  the  house. 

"  I  shan't  sell  at  all,"  said  the  host.  "Such  people  shan't  enter 
my  house  again." 

When  Walpurga  awoke,  early  on  Monday  morning,  Hansei  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  week's  work  had  begun.  Before  clay- 
light,  he  had  taken  his  scythe  and  gone  out  to  his  mountain  meadow, 
where  he  was  now  mowing  the  dewy  grass.  He  worked  with  such 
joy,  such  pleasure  and  calmness,  that  it  seemed  as  if  an  invisible 
power  were  guiding  his  hand.  When  the  breakfast  was  ready 
and  Walpurga  had  searched  for  her  husband  everywhere,  and 
thinking  that  he  might  have  gone  fishing,  had  called  out  for  him 
back  of  the  house  and  down  by  the  lake,  she  went  out  into  the 
garden  again  and  looked  up  into  the  cherry  tree.  Perhaps  he  was 
up  there,  although  this  constant  plucking  of  cherries  would  be  too 
much  of  a  good  thing.  At  the  same  moment,  she  looked  towards 
the  hill,  and  saw  Hansei  coming  home,  his  scythe  glittering  in  the 
sun.  Walpurga  beckoned  to  him.  He  quickened* his  pace  and 
told  her  how  much  he  had  already  done.  "  Ah  !  "  said  he,  stretch- 
ing his  limbs  while  he  seated  himself  at  the  breakfast  table,  "  it 
does  one  good  to  work  before  breakfast,  and  then  come  home  and 
find  wife  and  child  and  mother,  with  something  warm  and  good 
to  eat,  waiting  for  you — Ah  !  that  tastes  good.  Sunday  's  beauti- 
ful, but  a  workday  's  much  finer.  I  would  n't  care  to  be  one  of 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  297 

vour  quality,  who  have  Sunday  all  the  year  round.  If  I  only  had 
lots  of  fields  and  meadows  and  forests,  so  that  I  could  always  work 
on  my  own  land." 

"We  '11  have  them,  God  willing,"  answered  Walpurga. 

They  were  a  happy  party  at  breakfast,  and  the  child  was  full  of 
life  They  had  been  sitting  together  for  a  little  while,  when  the 
innkeeper's  servant  entered  and  brought  Hansei  his  beer  mug 
with  his  name  engraved  on  the  pewter  lid,  and  signified  that  the 
innkeeper  desired  no  further  visits  on  his  part. 

Hansei  sent  word  to  the  host  that  he  had  better  return  the  twc 
hundred  florins  that  he  still  owed  him.  He  did  not  like  to  send 
such  a  message  by  the  servant,  but  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  give 
him  tit  for  tat. 

"And  tell  him,  besides,"  he  called  out  to  the  servant,  "he's 
often  been  warned  that  he  might  get  hold  of  the  wrong  fellow. 
Just  tell  him  that  I  'm  the  wrong  fellow." 

Hansei  could  not  help  feeling  sad  while  he  looked  at  the  empty 
beer  mug.  Who  knew  how  long  it  would  remain  empty.  Perhaps 
forever.  And  it 's  no  trifling  matter  to  be  excluded  from  the  vil- 
lage inn.  It 's  almost  as  hard  as  to  live  in  a  small  capital  where 
the  prince  gives  entertainments,  and  to  be  unable  to  take  part  in 
them  because  you  are  not  admitted  at  court.  "  There  's  a  new 
tap,"  they  'd  say  ;  "  there  's  a  new  wine  purchase  ;  there  are  enter- 
taining strangers  there —  "  He  was  now  excluded  from  the  best 
thing  there  was  in  the  village.  When  he  looked  at  his  tankard 
it  was  with  sad  thoughts,  and  with  a  prophetic  sense  of  the  thirst 
which  in  future  he  would  be  unable  to  quench. 

Before  long,  woodcutters,  on  their  way  to  the  forest,  stopped  to 
see  Hansei  and  tell  him  of  all  that  had  been  said  of  him  and  his 
wife  on  the  previous  day.  They  roundly  abused  those  who,  in 
order  to  please  the  innkeeper,  had  spoken  ill 'of  an  honest  man, 
one  against  whom  nothing  could  be  said. 

"There  's  no  harm  done,"  replied  Hansei;  "on  the  contrary,  it 
makes  one  wiser  to  see  how  people  will  talk  when  their  tongues  are 
loosened." 

"  And  your  comrades,  the  huntsmen,  said  they  had  only  let 
you  go  with  them  in  order  to  have  fun  at  your  expense." 

"  That  does  n't  matter.  I  '11  soon  show  them  that  I  've  learnt 
wisdom  from  them." 

"  Was  n't  there  one  who  spoke  well  of  us  ?  "  enquired  Walpurga. 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Wastl  the  weaver,  who  felt  kindly  inclined 
towards  Hansei,  but  feared  to  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  inn- 
keeper— "  the  Doctor.  He  's  a  real  friend  of  yours.  He  said : 
'  Walpurga  was  perfectly  right ;  it 's  the  most  sensible  thing  she  's 
ever  done  '—and  he  also  said  that  he  and  his  wife  would  soon  come 
on  purpose  to  welcome  you." 

And  now  the  woodcutters  cautioned  Hansei,  and  told  him  that 


298  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

there  were  others  who  thought  just  as  they  did,  that  the  old  inn 
had  been  of  little  account  for  a  great  while,  and  that  he  would  dc 
well  to  apply  for  a  license.  He  could  n't  fail  to  get  one,  and 
then  h-  '-ould  run  the  host  of  the  Chamois  so  dry  that  the  hoops 
A'ould  fall  from  his  casks. 

Han  ci  nodded  his  cheerful  approval.  "Just  wait,  we'll  show 
you,  yet,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  clenching  his  fists,  stretching 
out  his  arms,  and  raising  his  shoulders  as  if  he  would  fell  the  inn- 
keeper to  the  earth  with  a  blow  that  would  make  him  forget  to  rise 
again.  But  Walpurga  said  :  "  We  '11  harm  no  one,  and  we  '11  let 
no  one  harm  us." 

V  Have  n't  you  something  to  drink  ?  "  enquired  the  woodcutters. 
They  wanted  a  reward  for  the  news  they  had  brought. 

"No,  I've  nothing,"  replied  Hansei.  "I  must  be  off  to  the 
meadow  to  turn  the  hay." 

The  men  left,  and  had  gone  a  great  ways  before  they  ceased 
abusing  Hansei.  "That  's  the  way  with  a  beggar  on  horse 
back.  He  won't  even  give  you  a  drink  when  you  bring  him 
news." 

\Yastl  the  weaver  had  not  the  courage  to  contradict  them, 
although  he  knew  that  Hansei  would  gladly  have  given  him  some- 
thing to  drink  if  the  rest  of  the  company  had  not  been  present. 

Hansei  gazed  at  his  forlorn  tankard,  for  some  time.  At  last,  he 
said : 

"I  do  n't  care.  I  wanted  to  be  all  alone  with  you,  Walpurga, 
and  now  we  are  alone,  I  ask  nothing  of  the  world." 

"The  innkeeper's  not  the  whole  world,"  said  Walpurga,  con- 
solingly. 

Hansei  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  say  that  a  woman  can't  under- 
stand what  it  is  to  be  shut  out  of  the  inn,  just  like  a  drunkard  whom 
the  law  prevents  from  going  there. 

"  He  's  got  no  right  to  keep  me  out,"  said  he,  angrily.  "  I  know 
my  rights.  The  landlord  must  give  drink  to  every  guest  who  enters 
his  house.  But  Lshan't  do  him  the  honor  to  go  there." 

Waipurga,  whose  thoughts  followed  the  woodcutters,  conject- 
ured they  were  speaking  ill  of  them. 

"We  ought  to  have  given  the  woodcutters  something  to  drink. 
They  're  surely  abusing  us  now." 

"  We  can't  stop  every  one's  mouth,"  replied  Hansei.  "  Let  them 
t.i'k  ;  and  do  n't  begin  to  repent  now.  We  must  be  firm.  What 's 
clone  is  done."  With  a  changed  tone,  he  r.dded  : 

"  The  sun  's  burning  hot  on  the  mountain,  and  if  we  stick  at  our 
work,  we  can  get  our  hay  in  this  very  evening.  In  such  weather  as 
this,  the  grass  turns  into  hay  as  fast  as  it  falls  from  the  scythe. 
But  there  's  something  brewing  in  the  lake.  There  may  be  a 
storm  before  we  know  it ;  and  so  I  'd  like  to  get  the  hay  in  under 
cover.  Won't  you  go  along  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  299 

Walpurga  was  delighted  to  go.  The  mother  also  wished  to  ac- 
company them,  and  so,  taking  their  dinner  with  them,  the  whole 
family  set  out  for  the  mountain  meadow.  Hansei  carried  the 
child,  Walpurga  took  the  barrow,  and  the  grandmother  carried 
the  dinner  basket.  As  soon  as  the  dog  saw  them  start,  he  fol- 
lowed after  them,  and  was  constantly  running  backward  and  for- 
ward, from  one  to  the  other  of  the  party.  The  dew  had  already 
disappeared  from  field  and  meadow,  when  they  entered  the  shady 
forest. 

"I  'd  rather  push  a  barrow,"  said  Walpurga,  "than  ride  in  a 
coach." 

When  they  began  to  ascend  the  hill,  they  changed  about.  The 
grandmother  took  the  child,  Walpurga  the  dinner,  and  Hansei  the 
wheelbarrow.  It  was  not  until  the  child  was  asleep  that  Walpurga 
could  take  it  on  her  arm,  and  she  felt  happy  while  carrying  it 
through  the  green  wood.  Once,  it  opened  its  eyes  and  looked  at 
her,  but  soon  closed  them  again  and  went  to  sleep. 

When  they  reached  the  meadow,  they  laid  the  child  in  a  shady 
spot,  where  they  could  always  have  it  in  sight,  and  the  dog  re- 
mained there  guarding  it.  Hansei  and  the  two  women  worked 
assiduously.  Hansei  called  out  to  Walpurga  that  she  must  not  turn 
the  hay  so  quickly,  or  she  would  soon  tire  herself,  for  she  was  no 
longer  used  to  such  work.  So  she  went  about  it  more  slowly. 

"This  meadow  was  bought  with  your  money,"  said  Hansei. 

"  Do  n't  say  that.  Promise  me,  you  '11  never  say  such  a  thing 
again." 

"  I  promise." 

They  found  it  warm  work,  and  when  Hansei  came  near  Wal- 
purga again,  she  said  : 

"  The  same  sun  that  dries  the  grass  makes  us  wet  with  perspira- 
tion. At  the  summer  palace,  they  mow  the  grass  every  week. 
They  never  let  it  grow  high,  and  take  great  care  that  there  are  no 
flowers  in  the  grass;  but  they  tell  me  that  it  does  n't  make  good 
fodder." 

"  You  think  of  so  many  things,"  replied  Hansei.  "  Are  n't  you 
tired  yet?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  've  been  resting  so  long.  Do  you  know  what  pleases 
me  most  of  all  ?  Just  look,"  said  she,  showing  him  that  her  hands 
were  becoming  hardened  by  labor. 

They  heard  the  bell  down  in  the  valley  striking  the  hour  of 
eleven.  This  was  the  signal  to  prepare  dinner.  Hansei  hurriedly 
brought  some  wood,  a  bright  fire  was  kindled,  and  the  child  was 
so  lively  that  the  grandmother  had  to  exert  all  her  strength  to 
keep  it  on  her  lap.  While  the  soup  was  being  warmed,  Hansei  sat 
by  smoking  his  pipe.  The  three  sat  on  the  ground,  eating  out  of 
l»ne  dish.  After  dinner,  Hansei  stretched  himself  out  and  said  ; 
'I  '11  sleep  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 


300  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Walpurga  also  lay  down,  but  the  mother  remained  awake,  watch- 
ing the  child. 

Hansei  slept  but  a  short  time.  He  looked  pleased  when  he  saw 
his  wife  lying  on  the  ground,  sleeping  by  his  side.  He  motione  1 
to  the  mother  that  she  should  not  awaken  Walpurga.  The  child 
was  placed  in  the  basket  beside  it's  mother,  who  slept  on  quietly, 
while  Hansei  and  the  grandmother  were  at  work  further  down  the 
hillside.  The  sun  was  already  sinking  when  Walpurga  awoke. 
She  felt  something  touching  her  which  thrilled  her  strangely.  She 
opened  her  eyes,  and  they  met  those  of  her  child.  Its  hands 
were  stroking  her  cheeks.  The  child  had  crept  out  of  its  basket 
and  had  crawled  up  to  her.  Walpurga  kept  perfectly  still.  She 
scarcely  ventured  to  breathe,  and  closed  her  eyes,  lest  she  should 
frighten  the  child  away.  "Mother,"  cried  the  child.  She  still 
restrained  herself,  though  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  must  burst. 
"  Mother  !  Mother  !  "  it  cried,  more  eagerly  than  before  ;  and  now 
she  raised  herself  and  embraced  the  child,  and  it  let  her  do  with  it 
as  she  liked.  Her  heart  overflowing  with  happiness,  she  sank 
on  her  knees  and  held  her  little,  laughing  child  on  high. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  held  the  child  up  with  both  her  hands, 
and,  hurrying  to  her  people,  exclaimed  :  "  Hansei !  mother  !  the 
child  's  mine  !  "  and  the  little  one  held  her  tightly  in  its  arms. 

"  Moderate  yourself,"  said  her  mother.  "  You  '11  spoil  the  child 
if  you  show  that  you  care  for  it  so  much.  That 's  enough,  Burgei," 
said  she  to  the 'little  one.  "Put  it  down,  Walpurga,  and  come 
help  us." 

Walpurga  followed  her  mother's  advice,  but  could  not  help  look- 
ing towards  the  child.  It  did  not  turn  towards  her.  It  was  play- 
ing with  the  dog,  who  had  made  good  friends  with  it.  Presently 
it  tumbled  down  from  the  pile  of  hay.  Walpurga  shrieked ;  but 
the  mother  exclaimed,  "  let  it  alone  !"  The  child  lifted  its  head, 
laughed,  crawled  over  to  the  grandmother,  and  then  looked  over  at 
its  mother. 

The  hay  was  dry.  Hansei  hurried  off  to  fetch  his  cow  team, 
as  he  was  anxious  to  get  the  load  home  betimes.  The  wagon  could 
not  cc  me  nearer  than  the  road,  and  so  they  were  obliged  to  carry  the 
hay  d  )\\n  the  hill  and  to  pile  it  up  in  heaps.  Walpurga  said  that 
she  had  slept  enough  and  had  been  idle  for  a  long  while,  and  al- 
lowed her  mother  to  help  her  but  little. 

Hansei  returned.  They  loaded  the  wagon.  Grandmother,  Wal- 
purga and  child  sat  on  top  of  the  load  of  hay,  and  Hansei,  at  last, 
got  up,  too.  Evening  had  set  in.  The  lake  began  to  assume  a 
darker  hue,  and  it  was  only  here  and  there  that  a  streak  of  light 
played  upon  its  surface. 

•'  And  now  the  people  may  say  whatever  they  please,"  said  Wal- 
purga, "up  here,  we  're  far  above  them  all." 
-The  mother  and  Hansei  looked  at  each  other,  and  their  glance 


ON  THE  HEIGi 


UJWIVJ 

O3T 


meant :  "  How  wonderful  it  is  that  Walpurga 
strange  thoughts  about  everything." 

It  was  soon  quiet  in  the  little  cottage  by  the  lake.  7ts  tited,  but 
happy  inmates  were  sleeping,  and  the  whole  house  v.as  fragrant 
with  the  odor  of  the  new-mown  hay. 

CHAPTER     VII. 

'PHE  folks  in  the  cottage  slept  on  peacefully,  knowing  nothing  of 
1  the  whirlwind  of  dust,  the  dark  clouds  that  overcast  tne  3ky, 
the  mighty  storm,  or  the  violent  rain  that  followed.  When  Hansel 
put  his  head  out  ot  the  window  next  morning,  it  was  still  raining. 
He  turned  to  Walpurga  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  see  ?  I  was  right,  yesterday.  The  weather  's  changed. 
Thank  God  !  our  hay  's  under  cover." 

"Yes,"  replied  Walpurga.  "What  a  day  it  was.  It  was  all 
sunshine." 

It  rained  all  day.  A  sharp  wind  was  blowing,  the  waves  of 
the  lake  rose  on  high  and  lashed  themselves  against  the  shore. 

"  How  good  it  is  to  have  a  roof  over  one's  head,"  said  Walpurga. 
Hansei  again  looked  at  his  wife  with  surprise.  Walpurga  dis- 
covered everything  anew.  But  now  she  was  happy,  for  her  child 
clung  to  her.  It  called  her  "mother,"  and  called  the  grand- 
mother "mamma." 

Walpurga,  with  the  child  on  her  arm,  was  standing  at  the  stable 
door  and  throwing  bread  crumbs  to  the  finches  who  could  find  no 
food  that  day.  The  birds  picked  up  the  crumbs  and  flew  away  to 
their  nests  with  them. 

'  They  Ve  got  young  ones  at  home,  too,"  said  she.  Suddenly, 
she  interrupted  herself  and  said :  "  Burgei,  we  Ve  been  in  the  sun 
together,  now  we  '11  go  into  the  rain  together."  She  ran  out  into 
the  warm  rain  with  her  child,  and  then  back  again  into  the  stable. 
She  dried  herself  and  the  child,  and  said:  "There!  wasn't  it 
lovely  ?  and  now  it 's  raining  on  our  meadow,  and  fresh  grass  will 
grow,  and  my  child  must  grow,  too,  and  when  we  gather  the 
aftermath,  you  '11  be  able  to  run  alone." 

Walpurga  felt  so  happy  that  the  child  had  become  attached  to 
her  that  she  hardly  knew  what  to  do  for  joy.  The  child,  too,  was 
happier  than  it  had  ever  been  before.  The  young  mother  could 
play  with  it  far  better  than  the  grandmother  could.  Her  laugh 
was  so  bright,  and  she  would  count  its  little  fingers  and  renew  all 
those  wondrous,  childish  plays  which  overflowing  maternal  love  in- 
vented. 

Walpurga  did  not  care  to  eat  anything  all  that  day.  She  merely 
tasted  a  spoonful  of  the  broth  before  giving  it  to  her  chijd.  It 
rained  incessantly.  Hansei  was  out  in  the  shed,  chopping  wood. 
Suddenly  he  came  into  the  room  and  said:  "How  careless  we 


302  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

were  yesterday.  They  all  know  that  you  brought  home  so  much 
money  with  you,  and  we  went  off  and  left  the  house  alone.  Have 
you  looked  to  see  if  it  's  still  here  ?  " 

Walpurga  was  filled  with  alarm,  but  speedily  satisfied  herself 
that  all  was  still  there. 

"  It  must  be  put  in  a  safe  place  before  long.  At  all  events,  one 
of  us  must  always  stay  at  home,  now,"  said  Hansei,  and  returned 
to  his  work. 

Time  passes  slowly  on  rainy  days,  and  what  better  employment 
is  there  in  such  seasons,  than  to  sit  together  and  abuse  those  whc 
are  absent  ?  At  noon,  Hansei  said  :  "  The  Chamois  must  be  crowd- 
ed, all  day  long."  It  worried  him  to  think  that  he  could  not  be  there. 
What  a  merry  time  he  might  have  had.  They  might  have  drunk 
those  six  measures  of  wine,  and  now  he  must  let  the  rogues  get  off 
without  paying  their  wager. 

Walpurga  added:  "Yes,  and,  from  what  I  know  of  the  people, 
I  'm  quite  sure  tjiey  're  abusing  us,  because,  thank  God,  we  're 
doing  well.  It  seems  as  if  I  'd  never  known  people  before,  except 
by  their  outsides;  but  now  I  can  see  through  them." 

"  Did  n't  you  say  that  you  would  n't  care  what  people  thought  ?  " 
replied  Hansei. 

Walpurga  had  a  wonderful  knack  of  divining  the  idea?  of  others. 
Her  thoughts  now  penetrated  even,-  house,  wandered  to  the  pump 
by  the  courthouse,  and  into  the  inn  itself,  in  order  to  discover  what 
the  people  there  were  saying  against  her  and  hers.  She  was  not 
obliged  to  wait  long  for  confirmation.  The  joiner  who,  on  the  day 
of  Walpurga's  departure,  had  offered  to  sell  his  house  and  farm,  now 
came  to  borrow  money  from  Hansei,  as  he  had  received  notice  to 
pay  off  his  mortgage.  As  an  introduction,  he  thought  it  best  to 
assure  Hansei  that  he  was  his  only  friend,  and  the  only  well-wisher 
left  him  in  the  village. 

Hansei  plainly  told  him  that  he  would  n't  lend  money  to  any  one, 
for  that  changed  one's  friends  into  foes.  The  friendly  tale-bearer 
soon  took  his  leave. 

Living  in  the  village  had  ceased  to  be  a  pleasure  to  them.  The 
closing  of  the  inn  doors  against  Hansei  was  only  the  beginning. 
No  one,  of  his  own  accord,  bade  him  or  his  wife  'good-day,'  and 
their  greetings  were  scarcely  returned.  Walpurga.  who  had  grown 
accustomed  to  being  praised  and  esteemed  by  those  about  her,  was 
often  -er)  sad.  What  vexed  her  most  of  all  was  that  the  story  of 
the  wager  haa  been  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  had  become 
so  -Iistorted  that  it  was  scarcely  fit  to  be  repeated.  It  seemed  as 
ii  the  privacy  of  the  marital  chamber  had  been  revealed  to  the 
world  and  discussed  in  the  market-place.  She  felt  insecure  in  her 
own  house.  Ever)'  noise  frightened  her,  though  it  were  merely 
a  barking  dog,  or  the  elder  bush  brushing  against  the  roof.  Every 
night,  before  going  to  sleep,  she  would  try  the  window-shutters,  t« 
see  that  they  were  firmly  closed. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  303 

"  I  do  n't  believe,"  said  she,  "that  great  folk  are  half  50  bad  as 
villagers." 

"Indeed?"  said  the  mother.  "I  don't  know  anything  about 
them  ;  but  fr»m  what  I  've  heard,  the  quality  are  just  as  good  and 
just  as  bad  as  the  common  folk.  It  do  n't  depend  on  the  clothes." 

"  You  're  just  like  Countess  Brinkenstein.  If  you  'd  been  obliged 
to  spend  all  your  life  in  the  palace,  you  'd  have  been  just  like  her," 
thought  Walpurga  to  herself,  while  she  looked  at  her  mother. 

Walpurga's  mind  was  agitated  by  contending  emotions.  She 
was  obliged  to  reconcile  two  distinct  spheres  of  life  :  the  court  and 
the  village,  and,  in  imagination,  would  often  transplant  villagers 
to  the  court  and  vice  versa. 

She  was  sometimes  quite  bewildered  and  scarcely  able  to  distin- 
guish what  she  had  only  imagined  from  what  she  had  really  ex- 
perienced. 

Hansel  would  listen  to  his  wife  and  her  mother  discussing  people 
and,  with  a  smile,  would  think  to  himself: 

"  How  changeable  the  women  are ;  there  's  nothing  consistent 
about  them." 

After  Hansei  had,  for  two  or  three  evenings,  resisted  his  inclina- 
tion to  go  to  the  inn,  he  was  merrier  than  ever. 

'•  I  'm  glad,"  said  he,  "that  I  can  give  up  a  habit,  if  necessary. 
I  really  think  I  could  give  up  smoking,  too." 

Those  dull  days  served  to  show  the  difference  between  the  dis- 
positions of  Hansei  and  his  wife.  To  the  superficial  observer, 
Walpurga,  so  cheerful  and  wide  awake,  would  seem  the  superior  of 
her  sullen,  awkward  husband.  Her  temperament  was  suggestive 
of  life  among  the  mountains  ;  for  there,  when  it  is  dull  and  rainy, 
everything  is  covered  with  darkness,  but,  as  soon  as  the  sun  breaks 
forth,  every  object  is  lighted  up  afresh — the  green  meadows  are 
brighter,  the  lake  acquires  a  darker  blue,  every  mountain  height  and 
every  forest  stream  is  revealed  anew  in  clear  and  perfect  lines. 
Like  a  beautiful  flower,  opening  and  revealing  all  its  beauty  in  the 
glowing  sunshine,  Walpurga  was  always  better  and  brighter  in  fair 
weather.  Hansei  remained  steady  and,  indeed,  gained  in  firmness 
while  the  bad  Weather  lasted.  When  the  storm  raged,  sway- 
ing branches  and  boughs  to  and  fro,  he  resisted,  as  it  were,  and 
maintained  his  ground.  He  had  something  in  common  with  the 
rough-barked,  weather-beaten  oak.  The  monarch  of  the  forest 
does  not  don  its  robes  of  green  with  the  first  mild  rays  of  the 
spring  sun.  Its  boughs  remain  bare  long  after  its  neighbors  are 
decked  with  foliage,  but,  in  the  end,  it  surpasses  them  all  in 
strength  and  beauty. 

The  pas:  year  had  indeed  wrought  a  greater  change  in  Hansei 
than  in  Walpurga. 

The  tree  growing  on  a  rock,  drawing  scanty  nourishment  from 
the  thin  crust  of  earth  around  it,  and  exposed  to  wind  and 


304  0.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

storm,  will,  when  transplanted  to  a  rich  soil,  seem  to  languish  at 
first ;  bu\  it  will  soon  shoot  forth  with  new  strength.  Thus  had  it 
been  with  Hansei.  The  sudden  transition,  from  a  life  of  care  and 
toil  into  a  new  sphere,  had  almost  ruined  him.  But  in  a  little 
while,  all  was  well  with  him  again.  And  now  his  firmness  and 
self-possession  stood  him  in  good  stead,  for  he  was  obliged  to  pre- 
vent Walpurga's  kind  but  strongly  self-conscious  nature  from  gain- 
ing ascendency  over  his. 

Walpurga  was,  at  first,  almost  vexed  at  her  husband's  insensi- 
bility. She  would  go  about  in  an  angry  mood,  would  curl  her  lips 
and  clench  her  fists.  She  felt  as  if  she  must  do  something  to 
punish  thi  villagers.  Hansei  remained  calm  ;  it  was  not  his  habit 
to  trouble  his  head  with  much  thinking.  It  gradually  dawned  upon 
Walpurga's  mind  that  Hansei  was  far  stronger  than  she.  Like  a 
plant  deprived  of  sunshine,  and  in  spite  of  her  happy  home,  she 
would  have  withered  and  languished  because  of  the  averted  glances 
of  her  neighbors.  She  was  so  possessed  by  her  anger  that  she  was 
only  sensible  to  that  which,  feeding  it,  provoked  her  the  more. 
Hansei  was  quite  calm,  and  Walpurga,  for  the  first  time,  became 
fully  aware  of  his  strength  of  character.  No  one  could  make  him 
change  his  gait.  He  was  like  a  horse  which  jogs  on,  regardless  of 
the  dog  barking  at  its  heels,  or  which,  when  going  up  hill,  will 
suffer  no  one  to  urge  it  into  a  trot. 

In  true  humility,  Walpurga  bowed  to  her  husband.  He  might 
have  been  wittier,  readier,  and  more  sprightly,  but  none  could  be 
better  nor  steadier  than  he. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  village  council  were  in  session. 
Hansei  was  summoned  to  the  town-hall.      The  messenger 
who  came  for  him  told  him  that  there  was  to  be  a  new  assessment, 
and  that  higher  taxes  were  to  be  levied  upon  him,  now  that  he  had 
come  into  property. 

"You  need  n't  tell  everything  to  the  last  kreutzer,"  said  he. 

"  I  '11  tell  them  all.  Thank  God,  I  've  got  something  to  pay  taxes 
for,"  replied  Hansei. 

Walpurga  listened  with  eager  interest.  She  had  been  bci'ing 
with  rage  for  many  days,  and  now  the  time  had  come  when  her 
anger  could  find  vent  in  words.  She  said  she  would  go  along  to 
the  town-hall  where  they  were  all  assembled,  and  would,  then  and 
there,  tell  them  what  she  thought  of  them.  Hansei  persuaded  her 
that  that  would  n't  do,  and  now  the  messenger  seemed  the  very 
man  to  serve  her  purpose.  She  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of  abuse 
of  the  villagers,  and  asked  the  messenger  to  go  to  them  and  repeat 
every  word  he  had  heard.  She  threatened  them  with  the  house  of 
correction  and  the  king,  as  if  both  were  at  her  service,  besides 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  305 

mentioning  other  punishments  which  were  quite  new  and  of  her 
own  invention. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Hansel  to  the  messenger.  While  on  the 
way,  he  gave  him  some  drink-money  and  told  him  that  his  wife 
had  not  yet  become  used  to  things  at  home,  and  that,  naturally 
enough,  many  a  thing  worried  her.  The  messenger  reassured  Han- 
sei  by  saying  that,  in  an  office  like  his,  one  was  obliged  to  hear  and 
see  much  which  it  was  best  to  seem  ignorant  of  afterward,  and 
that  women  were  very  queer.  Their  great  delight  was  to  unbur- 
den themselves  ;  after  that,  they  were  all  right  again. 

Hansei  was  detained  at  the  town-hall  for  a  long  time.  The  inn- 
keeper, who  was  one  of  the  councilmen,  was  seated  at  the  table 
and  found  great  pleasure  in  trying  to  get  him  into  a  tight  place. 
His  office  protected  him  as  with  a  shield.  He.  tried  to  provoke 
Hansei  to  insult  him,  so  that  he  might  put  him  in  jail  and  thus,  at 
one  stroke,  disgrace  the  haughty  beggar  and  his  wife.  Hansei  saw 
what  was  in  the  wind,  and  every  one  was  astonished,  at  the  polite 
manner  in  which  he  expressed  himself.  He  never  addressed  the 
innkeeper  except  as  "Mr.  Councilman."  "He  must  have  learned 
that  from  his  wife,  who  got  her  education  at  the  palace,"  whispered 
the  councilmen  to  each  other. 

In  spite  of  the  pouring  rain  that  lasted  during  the  whole  of  the 
meeting,  Walpurga  waited  and  watched  outside  of  the  town-hall. 
If  there  should  be  any  trouble  up  there,  thought  she  to  herself,  she 
would  go  up  and  tell  them  all  what  they  were.  She  was  insensible 
to  the  rain  penetrating  her  clothes,  for  she  was  all  aglow  with  ex- 
citement. At  last  she  heard  a  noise  on  the  stairs.  Many  were 
coming  down,  and  she  hurried  home. 

Hansei  returned  home,  full  of  self-confidence.  He  had  con- 
quered himself,  and  the  victory  had  been  a  greater  one  than  if  he 
had  laid  about  him  with  cudgels.  At  home,  he  found  everything 
in  great  confusion. 

Walpurga,  after  walking  about  in  the  rain,  had  suddenly  hurried 
home  as  if  some  one  was  after  her,  and  had  fainted  as  soon  as  she 
entered  the  room  where  her  mother  was  sitting.  She  had  recovered, 
but  was  still  in  a  high  fever,  and  her  teeth  were  chattering.  Once 
she  opened  her  eyes,  but  quickly  closed  them  again. 

Hansei  wanted  to  go  for  the  doctor  at  once,  but  the  mother  ad- 
vised him  to  stay  at  home  and  send  a  messenger  in  his  stead. 
Before  the  doctor  came,  Walpurga  was  sitting  up  in  bed  and  tell- 
ing her  own  story. 

Hansei  informed  her  how  he  had  killed  the  innkeeper  with  polite- 
less.  Walpurga's  face  suddenly  lit  up  with  joy,  and  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  him,  saying : 

"You  're — you  're  a  splendid  fellow,"  and  then  she  wept  until 
the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"That's   "ight;"    said  the  grandmother  to  Hansei;    "that  'H 


306  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

clear  her  head.  I  was  afraid  it  had  gone  to  her  head,  but  now  it 's 
all  right.  You  can  go  now." 

Hansei  left  the  room.  He  stood  at  the  window  for  awhile, 
looking  out  at  the  rain.  "If  your  wife  were  to  die,  or  if  she 
should  live  and  be  worse  than  dead.  If  she — "  He  did  not  dare 
\o  think  of  the  word. 

The  mother  came  out  into  the  room  and  said :  "  Thank  God  ! 
she  's  sleeping.  When  this  is  well  over,  the  danger  's  past.  It 
.vas  no  trifle  to  leave  the  palace  as  she  's  done,  where  they  all 
petted  her  and  showed  her  great  respect,  and  to  come  here  among 
these  coarse,  spiteful  people.  She  'd  become  filled  with  anger 
and  hatred,  and  it  had  to  come  out  some  day.  Thank  God,  it 's 
out  now.  It 's  lucky  for  us  that  the  people  have  shown  themselves 
so  mean.  Take  my  word  for  it — with  all  her  goodness,  she  would 
have  found  fault  with  everything  in  the  house,  and  nothing  would 
have  suited  her,  if  this  had  n't  come  in  the  way." 

The  mother  thus  consoled  Hansei,  who  nodded  approval  of  her 
words. 

Walpurga  slept.  Her  cheeks  were  scarlet.  Hansei,  with  the 
child  in  his  arms,  stood  at  his  wife's  bedside  for  a  long  time,  look- 
ing at  her. 

The  doctor  did  not  come  until  the  next  morning.  He  found 
Walpurga  lively,  but  very  weak.  He  prescribed  drastic  remedies, 
and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  she  was  quite  restored.  She  now 
saw  what  danger  she  had  been  in,  and  how  luckily  she  had 
escaped  it. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  she  felt  quite  at  home  and  perfectly 
happy. 

Walpurga  and  her  mother  were  down  by  the  lake,  washing 
clothes. 

"  Yes,  it 's  our  business  to  keep  things  clean,"  said  Walpurga. 
"  When  I  look  up  at  the  mountains,  I  see  the  rocks  and  forests  which 
only  men,  with  their  chisels  and  axes,  can  shape  into  houses.  Men's 
work  is  with  whatever  's  strong  and  powerful.  Even  if  others  do 
flatter  us,  and  we  persuade  ourselves  that  we  're  ever  so  great,  we 
women  are  less  than  they  are." 

The  mother  smiled  and  said :  "  Oh  child,  your  thoughts  are  far- 
fetched, but  you  're  right,  for  all." 

"  My  Hansei  's  a  real  steady  man,"  continued  Walpurga. 

•  That  he  is,"  answered  the  mother,  with  joyful  mien.  "He 
(Ii,es  n't  talk  as  much  as  others  do,  but  when  it  comes  to  a  pinch, 
he  knows  what  he  has  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  and  that  's  just  the 
way  your  blessed  father  was.  You  're  very  lucky  to  find  this  out 
so  soon  after  the  birth  of  your  first  child.  1  did  n't  know  it  till 
after  my  third,  or,  indeed,  till  I  'd  lost  all  my  children  except  your- 
self." 

"Good  day  to  you  all!"  suddenly  said  a  little  needy-looking 
man. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  307 

"  Why  it 's  Peter  !  "  cried  the  grandmother  ;  "  you  here  already  ? 
That  's  good.  And  is  this  your  daughter?  What 's  her  name  ?  " 

"Gundel." 

"  God  greet  you  both,"  said  the  grandmother,  who  kept  wetting 
nivl  wiping  her  hand  again  and  again,  before  offering  it  to  her 
brother. 

The  little  man's  features  expressed  great  surprise.  It  was  long 
since  any  one  had  been  so  glad  to  see  him  ;  but,  of  course;  he  had 
come  to  a  house  that  was  overflowing  with  joy. 

The  grandmother  took  her  brother  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
towards  the  house.  She  felt  sad  when  she  looked  at  the  poor  little 
man,  for  his  appearance  betokened  great  poverty. 

She  forthwith  gave  her  brother  and  her  niece  something  to  eat. 
When  they  had  finished,  she  took  Gundel  out  to  the  washtub  by 
the  lake. 

"Just  work  there  till  dinner  time,  and  then  you  '11  know  where 
you  belong."  She  went  back  to  her  brother  and  again  bade  him 
welcome.  The  little  man  complained  that  life  went  hard  with  him. 
The  grandmother  went  into  the  other  room  with  Walpurga,  and 
asked  her :  "  How  much  money  did  you  mean  to  give  me  for  my 
journey  home  ?  " 

"  As  much  as  you  want." 

"  No. — Tell  me  how  much." 

"  Would  ten  florins  be  enough  ?  " 

"More  than  enough.     Give  them  to  me  at  once." 

Walpurga  gave  her  a  ten  florin  piece  and  said  : 

"  Mother,  I  have  n't  given  you  a  present  since  I  came  back." 

She  gave  her  mother  several  florins  in  addition  to  the  ten  which 
she  had  already  handed  her,  and  said :  "  Take  this  and  give  it 
away.  I  know  that  your  greatest  pleasure  is  in  giving  to  others." 

"  O  my  child  !  you  know  me  well.  Oh  God  !  I  can  now  give 
something  to  others  ;  that 's  the  best  thing  in  the  world.  You  see, 
I  Ve  never  been  able  to  do  anything  for  the  poor." 

"  Do  n't  say  that,  mother;  how  often  you  Ve  watched,  day  and 
night,  by  the  sick." 

"  That 's  nothing ;  that  's  not  money." 

"  It 's  far  better  than  money." 

"  May  be  it  is  with  God,  but  with  men —  Just  think  of  it ! — to 
be  able  to  give  money  and  money's  worth  to  others  !  You  make  me 
ever  so  happy.  I  've  had  gifts,  too,  in  my  time.  You  do  n't  know 
how  it  is,  when  the  hands  of  the  giver  and  the  receiver  touch. 
And  some  gifts  are  like  hot  bread  in  one's  stomach.  It  stills  your 
hunger,  but  it  lies  there  like  so  much  molten  lead.  But  there  are 
some  good  people  whose  gifts  do  one  good.  Grubersepp's  father 
once  came  to  me  and  gave  me  something,  and  so  did  Count  Eber- 
hard  Wildenort,  who  lives  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chamois  hill." 

"  Why,  that 's  the  father  of  my  Countess,"  said  Walpurga,  inter- 
•  ipting  her. 


3o8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Thank  God  !  Then  he  '11  live  to  be  rewarded  for  it  by  his 
children.  I  never  forget  a  name.  Yes,  I  received  presents  from 
them  both,  and  now  they  're  again  bestowing  gifts  through  me. 
My  child,  I  '11  never  forget  you  for  this.  To  be  able  to  give  is 
heaven  on  earth.  But  while  we  stand  here  chattering,  my  poor 
brother  's  waiting  out  there  like  a  poor  soul  at  heaven's  gate. 
Come  along." 

They  \vent  into  the  room.  The  mother  put  the  ten  florin  piece 
into  her  brother's  hand,  and  said : 

"  There,  take  it.  I  need  n't  go  to  my  home  now,  for  it  has  come 
to  me,  and  if  I  never  get  there  again,  it 's  enough  for  me  that  I  've 
seen  my  brother  once  more.  There,  Peter ;  that  was  to  have  been 
the  money  for  my  journey." 

"  Tsch-st-st-st " — with  these  sounds,  resembling  the  hissing  of 
a  pot  on  a  tire,  did  the  little  pitchman  receive  the  gift. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Walpurga  and  her  mother,  in 
one  breath. 

"Tsch-st-st-st,"  answered  Peter. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  are  you  crazy?"  asked  the 
mother,  whose  face  had  suddenly  assumed  a  serious  expression. 

"Tsch-st-st-st,"  replied  the  little  pitchman  again. 

And  now  it  was  Walpurga's  turn  to  become  angry  and  to 
enquire  :  "  What  do  you  mean  by  such  capers  ?  " 

"Oh  you  piece  of  palace  wisdom  !"  said  Peter  at  last,  "don't 
you  know  how  it  hisses  when  a  drop  falls  on  a  hot  stone,  and,  d'  ye 
see?  it 's  just  the  same  with  me  and  the  money." 

The  mother  told  him  that  he  was  ungrateful,  and  that  the  people 
thought  that  Walpurga  had  now  enough  money  to  make  every  one 
rich.  He  ought  to  feel  very  happy,  for  he  had  never  before  had  so 
much  at  any  one  time.  But  the  little  pitchman,  without  mak- 
ing further  answer,  continued  to  repeat  the  strange,  hissing  noise. 
Walpurga  went  out  and  soon  returned  with  another  ten  florin 
piece,  which  she  gave  to  the  little  pitchman,  who  then  said  : 

"There!  it  's  out  now;  I  can  pay  all  my  debts  and  buy  me  a 
goat,  besides,"  and,  striking  the  pieces  of  money  together,  he  sang  : 

What 's  the  best?  aye,  what 's  the  best? 
To  be  free  from  debt  or  care, 
And  have  a  little  money  to  spare — 
That 's  the  best ;  aye,  that 's  the  best 

The  mother  was  now  quite  happy  again.  She  resolved  to  be 
prudent  and. economical  in  dispensing  her  gifts.  In  imagination, 
she  already  saw  the  people  whose  want  she  could  now  alleviate, 
and  perhaps  remove.  The  joyful  glances  of  those  who  were  to  be 
gladdened  by  her  bounty  seemed  reflected  in  her  calm  and  happy 
face. 

"Oh  you  women  !  "  said  the  little  pitchman,  as  if  sermonizing.. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  309 

while  he  looked  with  sparkling  eyes  at  his  two  pieces  of  money, 
"  you  women  can't  know  what  money  is.  I  shall  put  small  change 
for  a  florin  in  my  pocket,  and  always  keep  it  with  me.  Hurrah  « 
what  a  jolly  life  I  '11  lead  !  What  do  you  know  about  such  things  ? 
You  go  by  a  public  house  of  a  Sunday,  put  your  hand  in  your 
pocket  and  there  's  nothing  there.  But  I  '11  go  in  and  won't  be- 
grudge myself  a  treat,  and  wherever  there  's  an  inn,  I  can  make 
myself  at  home.  Wine  and  beer  await  me  and  host,  hostess, 
daughter  and  servant  treat  me  kindly,  and  ask  how  it  goes  with 
me,  where  I  've  come  from  and  where  I  'm  going  to ;  and  when 
I  leave,  they  go  with  me  part  of  the  way,  and  ask  me  to  come  again. 
And  why  do  they  do  so  ?  Just  because  I  Ve  got  money  in  my 
pocket." 

The  old  man  shouted  for  joy.  The  grandmother  cautioned 
him  not  to  become  dissipated,  and  Peter  laughed  until  his  face  was 
nothing  but  wrinkles.  He  declared  that  he  had  made  it  all  up,  and 
that  now  he  was  less  likely  to  go  to  the  public  house  than  before. 
"When  you  've  got  money  in  your  pocket,"  he  said,  "it 's  great 
fun  to  go  and  quench  your  thirst  at  the  pump  in  front  of  the  inn." 

•'  My  Countess  told  me,"  said  Walpurga,  seating  herself  near  her 
uncle,  "  that  you  knew  her  father." 

"  And  what  Countess  is  it  ?  " 

"  Wildenort." 

"  Of  course  I  know  him.  He  's  a  man  ;  the  right  sort  of  a  man  , 
a  German  of  the  old  sort ;  a  gentleman,  a  real  gentleman.  He 
ought  to  be  king,  he —  Heavy  footsteps  were  heard  approach- 
ing. Hansei  entered.  Peter  quickly  put  the  money  in  his  pocket, 
and  whispered :  "I  shan't  say  anything  to  Hansei  about  it." 

"You  needn't  tell  him;  we'll  do  it,  ourselves,"  replied  Wal- 
purga. 

CHAPTER    IX. 

HANSEI  did  not  stand  on  ceremony  with  his  uncle.  He  had 
known  him  for  a  long  while.  They  had  often  met  up  in  the 
mountains,  where  Hansei  had  worked  as  a  woodsman  and  Peter 
had  gathered  pitch.  But  they  had  not  made  much  ado  of  their 
friendship  ;  an  occasional  charge  of  tobacco  had  been  the  only 
exchange  of  courtesy  between  them. 

Hansei  now  had  something  more  important  to  relate. 

"  I  was  working  out  by  the  garden  hedge  that  the  band  and  the 
rest  of  the  crowd  almost  tore  down  last  Sunday,  and,  all  at  once,  I 
heard  some  one  say :  '  You  're  quite  industrious,  Hansei ; '  and, 
when  I  looked  round,  who  do  you  think  it  was?  You  can't  guess." 

"  Not  the  innkeeper  ?  " 

"  You  '11  never  guess.  It  was  Grubersepp,  and  he  said  :  '  1  hear 
you  've  stopped  going  to  the  Chamois,'  and  I  said:  'That's  no- 
body's business  but  my  own  '." 


3io  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Why  did  you  answer  so  rudely  ?  "  asked  Walpurga,  interrupt- 
ing him. 

"Because  I  know  him.  If  you  do  n't  show  your  teeth  to  such  a 
fellow,  he  '11  hold  you  mighty  cheap —  'See  here,'  said  he.  '  It  '11 
be  six  years,  come  Michaelmas — ever  since  Waldl  was  born — and 
in  all  that  time  I  've  never  once  set  foot  in  the  Chamois,  and  I  '1.1 
still  alive  for  all.  You  '11  find  it  '11  do  you  good  to  stay  away,  just 
as  it  did  me.  I  've  laid  in  beer  of  my  own,  and  if  you  ever  feel 
like  having  a  glass,  send  for  it,  or  come  yourself.  May  be  you  '11 
want  a  word  of  advice  as  to  what  you'd  better  do  with  your 
money,  and  let  me  tell  you  one  thing,  lend  nothing  to  any  one — ' 
Now  tell  me,  mother,  tell  me,  wife,  who  'd  have  thought  of  such 
a  thing  ?  Who  'd  ever  expect  as  much  from  old  Grubersepp, 
who's  always  afraid  he  might  waste  a  word  ?  Now,  Walpurga, 
you  can  see  that  the  people  are  n't  all  wicked  ;  good  and  bad  are 
mixed  together  in  the  palace  as  well  as  in  the  village.  When  they 
they  find  that  Grubersepp  keeps  company  with  me,  they  '11  come 
flocking  back,  just  like  bees  to  a  mellow  pear." 

It  was  indeed  a  great  event.  A  resident  of  the  capital  could  not 
feel  more  highly  favored  if  accosted  by  the  king  in  the  public 
street,  than  Hansei  and  his  whole  family  now  were. 

Walpurga  wanted  to  go  up  to  Grubersepp's  at  once,  and  to 
acknowledge  that  she  had  done  him  wrong,  but  Hansei  said  : 

"There  's  no  need  of  being  in  such  a  hurry  about  it.  I  '11  wait 
till  he  comes  again  ;  I  won't  go  one  step  to  meet  him." 

"You  're  right,"  replied  \Valpurga,  "you  're  the  right  sort  of  a 
man." 

"  I  've  got  my  full  growth,"  said  he.  "  Is  n't  it  so,  Uncle  ?  I  'm 
done  growing." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  uncle,  "you've  got  your  full  size.  But  do 
you  know  what  you  ought  to  be?  You  ought  to  own  a  large 
farm.  You  'd  be  the  very  man,  and  Walpurga  the  very  woman 
for  it ;  and  now  that  I  think  of  it,  have  you  heard  that  the  owner 
of  the  freehold  at  our  place  wants  to  sell  ?  They  say  he  's  obliged 
to.  You  ought  to  go  there ;  you  'd  be  better  off  than  the  king, 
then.  If  you  've  got  the  ready  money,  you  can  buy  the  farm  at 
j  half  "price." 

The  uncle  now  praised  the  farm,  with  its  fields  and  its  meadows, 
and  said  the  soil  was  so  rich  and  in  such  good  condition  that  it  was 
almost  good  enough  to  eat ;  and  as  to  the  timber,  no  one  knew  how 
much  it  was  worth.  The  only  trouble  was  that  one  could  n't  get 
at  it  even-where. 

The  uncle  was  a  pitchburner,  and  knew  the  woods  well. 

Walpurga  was  quite  happy,  and  said : 

"  It  won't  do  to  lose  sight  of  this." 

Hansei  seemed  quite  indifferent  about  the  matter.  Walpurg? 
took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  whispered  :  "  I  've  something  more  foi 
you." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  311 

"  I  do  n't  need  anything.  There  's  only  one  thing  I  ask  of  you  : 
let  me  attend  to  the  purchase  of  the  farm,  and  do  n't  let  uncle  see 
that  you  snap  at  it  so.  I  really  think  the  farmer  must  have  senf 
him  here.  We  must  be  hard,  and  make  believe  we  do  n't  care  fol 
it  at  all.  I  shan't  neglect  the  matter,  you  may  depend  upon  that. 
And,  besides,  I  've  been  a  woodcutter  long  enough  to  know  some- 
thing about  timber  land." 

Hansei  let  the  uncle  go  away  alone  and  merely  said,  in  a  casual 
manner,  that  he  would  take  a  look  at  the  farm  some  time  or  other. 

Grubersepp  came  that  evening,  according  to  promise.  A  maid- 
servant, carrying  a  large  stone  jug  of  beer,  followed  him.  A 
wealthy  farmer  visiting  the  cottage  by  the  lake,  and  bringing  his 
beer  there  of  an  evening — such  a  thing  had  never  been  heard  of  as 
long  as  the  village  existed. 

His  whole  manner  seemed  to  say :  "  I  've  got  sixty  cows  pastur- 
ing on  the  mountain  meadows."  No  one  had  ever  heard  a  word 
of  praise  pass  his  lips.  He  was  a  sour-visaged  fellow,  and  was 
chary  of  his  words.  He  was  what  is  called  a  drudging  farmer.  All 
that  he  cared  for  was  incessant  work,  and  he  never  concerned  him- 
self about  others. 

Walpurga  kept  out  of  sight.  She  was  afraid  lest  she  might 
humble  herself  too  much,  and  thus  vex  Hansei,  who  behaved  as  if 
Grubersepp  had  been  visiting  the  family  for  years. 

Grubersepp  enquired  for  Walpurga.  Hansei  called  her,  and 
when  she  came,  the  rich  farmer  shook  hands  with  her  and  bade 
her  welcome. 

After  Walpurga  had  left  the  room,  they  spoke  of  the  best  way 
of  investing  the  money. 

Grubersepp  was  a  great  enemy  of  the  public  funds. 

"Yes,"  said  Hansei,  at  last ;  "  I  've  had  an  offer  of  the  farm  on 
the  other  side  of  the  lake,  six  leagues  inland.  My  mother-in-law 
is  from  that  neighborhood." 

"  I  know  the  farm.  I  was  there  once.  I  was  to  have  married 
the  farmer's  daughter,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  They  tell  me  that 
the  property  is  in  a  poor  condition.  If  you  want  to  reap  good  from 
land,  you  must  give  it  something  in  return.  The  soil  requires  it, 
and,  if  you  should  purchase,  do  n't  forget  that  a  good  portion 
of  the  meadow  land  had  best  be  sold.  My  father  always  used  to 
say  that  the  meadows  of  a  farm  are  like  a  cow's  udder." 

Hansei  was  astonished  at  the  amount  of  wisdom  which  Gruber- 
sepp had  inherited,  and  marveled  at  his  carrying  it  all  about  with 
him  and  making  so  little  ado  of  it. 

Grubersepp  added  :  "  The  matter  will  bear  thinking  over,  at  all 
events,  and  I  'd  be  glad  if  some  one  from  our  village  should  get  so 
line  a  property." 

"  But  you  would  n't  lit  me  have  anything  towards  it  ?  " 

"  No.  I  do  n't  owe  you  anything.  But  if  you  can  use  me  in 
any  other  way — " 


312  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Well,  how  ?     Will  you  go  bail  for  me  ?  " 

"  Xo  ;  that  I  won't,  either.  But  I  understand  the  matter  better 
than  you  do,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  whole  day  of  my  time.  I  '11  drive 
over  there  with  you  and  value  the  whole  property  for  you.  I  'm 
glad  that  you  've  concluded  not  to  take  the  inn.  The  weather  's 
clearing,  and  I  '11  have  all  my  hay  under  cover  by  to-morrow  noon. 
If  you  need  me  for  a  day,  I  'm  at  your  service,  and  we  '11  ride  over 
there.  You  know  that  when  I  say  a  thing  it 's  so,  for  I  'm  Gru- 
bersepp." 

"I  accept  it."  said  Hansei 

Radiant  with  joy,  Walpurga  stood  at  the  garden  hedge  the  next 
day,  watching  the  wagon  in  which  Hansei  and  Grubersepp  were 
sitting.  She  was  glad  that  so  many  people  happened  to  be  coming 
from  work  at  about  the  time  the  two  drove  off  together. 

"  Now  let  'em  burst  with  anger ;  the  first  man  in  the  village  is 
my  Hansei's  comrade." 

It  was  no  small  matter  for  Grubersepp  thus  to  give  a  whole  day 
of  his  time,  and  in  midsummer  at  that.  He  meant  it  kindly 
enough,  but  his  main  object  was  to  show  that  the  innkeeper  and 
his  pack  could  not  make  a  man  of  one,  while  he,  Grubersepp, 
could.  He  felt  quite  indifferent  as  to  what  people  thought  of  him, 
but,  nevertheless,  it  does  one  good  to  let  them  know  who  's  the 
master,  as  long  as  it  costs  nothing  to  do  so.  When  it  costs  nothing 
—that  was  the  chief  point  in  all  that  Grubersepp  did. 

The  nearest  route  lay  across  the  lake  and  straight  up  the 
mountain  on  the  other  side.  But  Grubersepp  had  an  unconquerable 
aversion  to  the  water,  and  so  they  drove  round  the  lake  and  then 
up  the  mountain. 

It  was  late  on  the  following  evening  when  Hansei  and  Gruber- 
sepp returned.  Hansei  reported  that  the  farm  was  a  fine  one,  and 
that  it  would  be  quite  a  fair  purchase,  although  not  so  wonderfully 
cheap  as  the  uncle  had  vaunted  it  to  be.  The  place  had  been  sadly 
neglected  ;  but  that  would  n't  stand  in  the  way,  for  he  could  put  all 
that  to  rights  again.  Still,  he  would  n't  buy,  because  he  'd  be 
obliged  to  leave  too  much  remaining  on  mortgage,  and  he  'd  rather 
own  a  smaller  farm  and  be  out  of  debt. 

Then  Walpurga  said  : 

"Come,  I  've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  something  for  a  great 
while,  and  you  'd  never  listen  to  me.  I  've  something  more  for  you." 

She  led  Hansei  down  into  the  cellar  and,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
removf  d  the  stone  cabbage-tub,  after  which  she  dug  up  the  earth 
with  her  hands,  and  displayed  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  Hansei  the 
pillow-case  filled  with  gold  pieces. 

"What 's  that?" 

"Gold  !     Every  bit  of  it." 

"Good  God  !  you  're  a  witch  ;  that 's — that 's  enchanted  gold  !  " 
exclaimed  Hansei.  He  was  so  startled  that  he  upset  the  oil  lamp 
which  Walpurga  had  placed  on  an  inverted  pail. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  313 

They  both  stood  there  in  the  dark,  shuddering  with  fear. 

"Are  you  still  here?"  cried  Hansei,  trembling. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Do  n't  be — do  n't  be — so — so  superstitious. 
Strike  a  light.  Have  you  no  matches  about  you  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  have." 

He  drew  them  from  his  pocket,  but  let  them  all  fall  on  the 
ground.  Walpurga  gathered  them  up.  Several  of  them  caught 
fire,  but  immediately  went  out  again.  The  sudden  flash  of  blue 
light  seemed  weird  and  dismal.  At  last  they  succeeded  in  lighting 
the  lamp,  and  went  up  stairs  into  the  room,  where  Waipurga  lit  a 
second  lamp,  lest  the  darkness  might  again  frighten  them.  Hansei 
hurriedly  removed  the  pillow-case,  and  the  glittering  gold  met  his 
eyes. 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  he,  passing  his  hand  over  his  face,  "have 
you  any  more  ?  Do  n't  try  that  again." 

Walpurga  assured  him  that  this  was  all.  Hansei  spread  the 
gold  out  on  the  table,  piled  it  up  in  little  heaps,  and  counted  it  with 
his  fingers.  He  always  had  a  piece  of  chalk  in  his  pocket,  and  he 
now  took  it  out  and  reckoned  up  the  money.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  turned  and  said  : 

"•  Come  here,  Walpurga.  Come,  there  's  your  first  kiss  as  mis- 
tress of  the  freehold." 

Hansei  put  the  gold  back  into  the  pillow-case,  and  when  he 
went  to  bed  he  placed  it  under  his  pillow,  saying:  "O  what  a 
good  pillow ;  one  can  sleep  sweetly  on  it." 

CHAPTER     X. 

WHEN  Walpurga  awoke  the  next  morning,  she  found  the  sack 
of  gold  in  bed  beside  her,  but  Hansei  had  disappeared. 

"  Where  is  he  ?     What 's  become  of  him  ?  " 

She  dressed  herself  in  a  hurry,  hunted  for  him,  and  went  all  over 
the  house  calling  for  him  ;  but  he  was  not  there.  She  hurried  over 
to  Grubersepp's,  but  they  had  seen  nothing  of  him.  She  returned 
home,  but  Hansei  had  not  yet  arrived. 

What  could  it  be  ?  If  Hansei  had  done  some  harm  to  himself — 
If  having  so  much  money  had  turned  his  head — O  that  terrible 
money  !  It  had  been  lying  in  the  earth,  and  there  was  now  nothing 
wrong  about  it,  for  what  has  once  been  in  the  ground  is  purified. 

She  went  out  to  the  lake.  It  was  still  storming ;  its  waves  were 
high,  and  the  sky  was  covered  with  dark  gray  clouds. 

May  be  Hansei 's  destroyed  himself — may  be  he  's  floating  in 
there. 

She  stood  by  the  water's  edge  and  cried  "  Hansei "  with  all  hei 
might. 

There  was  no  answer.     She  returned  to  the  house  and,  as  coher- 


3H  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ently  as  she  could,  told  her  mother  of  her  grief.  Her  mother  con- 
soled her. 

"Do  be  quiet.  Hansei  took  his  axe  with  him — the  one  that  al- 
ways hangs  up  there.  _  I  suppose  he  had  something  to  do  in  the 
forest.  He  never  shirks  work.  When  he  comes  home,  do  n't  tell 
him  how  foolish  you  've  been.  The  palace  still  clings  to  you.  You 
worry  too  much  about  everything.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the 
world  's  quiet  and  peaceful  enough  as  long  as  we  're  quiet  and 
orderly.  Hush  !  I  hear  him  coming.  He  's  whistling." 

Hansei  approached,  whistling  and  bearing  his  axe  on  his 
shoulder. 

Walpurga  could  not  go  forward  to  meet  him.  She  felt  so  weak 
in  her  limbs  that  she  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 

"  Good  morning,  Mistress  Freeholder  !  "  cried  Hansei  from  afar. 

"Good  morning,  Freeholder!"  replied  Walpurga.  "Where 
have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Out  in  the  woods.  I  cut  down  a  pine  tree,  a  splendid  one  that 
must  have  felt  my  strokes.  It  did  me  good.  But,  first  of  all,  give 
me  something  to  eat,  for  I  'm  hungry." 

"  He  can  still  eat ;  thank  God  for  that,"  thought  Walpurga  to  her- 
self, while  she  hurried  to  fetch  the  porridge.  She  sat  down  beside 
him,  delighting  in  every  spoonful  which  he  took.  She  had  much 
to  tell  and  to  ask  about,  but  she  did  n't  wish  to  disturb  him  while 
he  was  eating,  and  when  the  dish  was  half  empty  she  held  it  up 
for  him,  so  that  he  could  fill  his  spoon. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  said  she,  when  the  dish  was  emptied,  "why  did 
you  go  out  so  early  and  steal  away  so  ?  " 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  When  I  awoke,  I  thought  it  was  all  a 
dream  and  when,  after  that,  I  found  the  money,  so  much  of  it,  I 
thought  I  'd  go  crazy.  Hansei,  the  poor  fellow  who  used  to  save 
for  months  at  a  time,  and  felt  so  happy  when  he  could  buy  himself 
a  shirt  and  a  pair,of  shoes,  had  all  at  once  become  rich,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  some  one  were  turning  me  round  and  round  and 
driving  me  crazy.  Then  I  felt  like  waking  you  up,  that  we  might 


went  up  the  mountain.  Day  was  just  breaking.  Although  I  was 
quite  alone,  I  felt,  all  the  time,  as  if  there  was  a  great  crowd  of 
people  after  me.  Still  I  went  on  till  I  reached  the  pine.  It  was 
marked  out  to  be  felled  long  ago.  I  threw  off  my  jacket  and  set 
to  work,  and  when  the  chips  began  to  fly,  I  felt  better.  After- 
wards, Wastl  came  up  and  helped  me,  but  he  kept  saying,  all  the 
time :  '  Hansei,  you  never  worked  as  you  do  to-day  ; '  and  he  spoke 
the  truth.  We'  felled  the  tree  and  it  came  down  with  a  crash. 
That  did  me  good,  and  I  felt  better  and  better.  We  chopped  off 
the  branches  and  did  three  times  as  much  as  we  generally  do  in 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  315 

the  same  time,  and  so,  little  by  little,  all  the  foolish  notions  and 
giddiness  left  my  head.  Now  I  'm  here  again  and  happy,  and  I  'm 
with  you,  Walpurga,  my  old  sweetheart.  I  've  been  a  woodcuttei 
again,  in  downright  earnest,  and  now  I  'm  to  become  a  farmer — 
that  is,  if  all  goes  right." 

And  it  all  came  to  pass. 

The  mother  had  a  wonderful  way  of  disappearing  when  she 
knew  that  Hansei  and  Walpurga  had  anything  to  settle  between 
themselves.  One  could  almost  have  fancied  that  the  cottage  was 
provided  with  secret  doors  and  subterranean  passages,  so  suddenly 
would  she  vanish.  She  would  reappear  just  as  suddenly,  and  no 
one  would  know  where  she  had  been  or  how  she  had  returned. 

According  to  her  wont,  she  had  disappeared.  Walpurga  and 
Hansei  searched  through  the  house  for  her  but  found  her  nowhere. 
When  they  returned  to  the  room,  she  was  there. 

"Mother,  we  've  good  news  for  you,"  said  Walpurga. 

"I  see  what's  best  of  all,  already,"  she  replied,  "and  that  is 
that  your  hearts  are  truly  united.  I  do  n't  care  to  know  any 
more." 

"  No,  mother,  you  must  know  this.  Did  you  ever  imagine  that 
you  might  be  mistress  of  the  freehold  at  which  you  once  were  a 
servant?  " 

"No,  never." 

"But  now  it  is  so." 

Walpurga  and  Hansei,  relieving  each  other  by  turns,  told  her 
that  they  had  enough  money  to  pay  the  cash  down  for  the  farm, 
and  that  the  purchase  was  as  good  as  concluded,  because  Hansei 
had  obtained  the  refusal  of  it  for  eight  days. 

Mother  Beate  could  not  utter  a  word  in  reply.  She  folded  her 
hands,  and  her  features  assumed  an  expression  of  sadness. 

"  Mother,  are  n't  you  pleased  at  it  ?  "  asked  Walpurga. 

"  Not  pleased  ?  You  '11  soon  see.  But  I  'm  old,  my  child,  and 
can't  jump  about,  the  way  you  do.  Look  at  the  mountains  over 
there.  As  long  as  they  've  been  standing  there,  no  one  has  ever 
felt  happier  than  I  do.  I  do  n't  know  what  the  Lord  means  by 
giving  me  so  much  happiness  on  earth.  He  knows  what  He  is 
doing  and  I  accept  it  calmly  and  patiently.  When  you  came  home 
to  us  again,  I  thought  my  cup  of  happiness  was  full,  but  now  I  see 
there  's  more  coming.  Well,  let  what  will  come,  I  'm  going  home 
again." 

The  mother  was  obliged  to  stop,  but  Hansei  said : 

"  Yes  mother ;  you  shall  see  something  that  you  Ve  never  seen 
before  in  all  your  life."  He  went  into  the  room,  returned  with  the 
sack  of  gold,  and  opened  it. 

"Just  look  at  that!"  said  he.  "How  it  shines  and  sparkles. 
You  can  hold  it  all  in  two  hands,  and  yet  there  's  enough  there  to 
buy  a  farm,  with  house  and  fields  and  forests,  and  cattle  and  tools 
Mid  everything." 


316  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  That 's  a  great  deal  of  money,"  said  the  mother.  Sne  laid  her 
hand  on  the  gold  while  her  lips  moved  silently. 

"  Put  your  hand  into  it,"  urged  Hansei.  "  Oh  how  good  it  feels 
to  stir  about  in  the  gold  that  way." 

The  grandmother  did  not  comply  with  his  wish,  but  kept  mur- 
muring to  herself. 

The  child  in  the  next  room  cried,  and  Hansei  called  out : 

"  The  freeholder's  daughter  's  awake.  Good  morning,  free- 
holder's daughter !  "  said  he,  while  the  two  women  went  out  to  the 
child.  Then  he  took  up  the  bag  of  gold,  shook  it,  and  said  : 

"Just  listen  ;  you  never  heard  such  music  before." 

The  grandmother  lifted  the  child  out  of  the  bed  and  said : 
'  Hansei,  just  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  put  the  gold  in  the  warm  crib 
of  the  innocent  child.  That  '11  bless  it,  and  no  matter  whose  hands 
the  gold  may  have  been  in,  that  consecrates  it  and  brings  a  bless- 
ing with  it." 

"Yes,  mother;  we  can  do  that."  Turning  to  Walpurga,  he 
added:  "Mother  always  has  such  pretty  notions.  You  know 
it  '11  do  the  gold  good  in  the  warm  nest.  Yes,"  said  he  to  the 
little  child,  "  they  've  put  lots  of  gold  in  your  cradle.  We  '11  take 
one  piece  and  have  a  hole  drilled  through  it,  and  you  shall  get  it 
when  you  become  confirmed.  Only  keep  good." 

"But  now  I  must  go  over  to  Grubersepp's,"  said  he,  at  last. 

Walpurga  was  obliged  to  tell  that  she  had  already  been  looking 
for  him  there,  that  morning.  She  now  realized  how  prone  she  was 
to  give  way  to  exaggerated  fears,  and  determined  to  break  herself 
of  the  habit. 

The  grandmother,  Walpurga  and  the  child  were  happy  together 
at  home,  and  the  mother  related  that  just  three  months  before 
Walpurga  was  born,  she  had  been  at  the  farm  for  the  last  time, 
and  that  was  to  attend  her  brother's  wedding. 

"  They  can  bury  me  up  there,"  added  she.  "  It 's  a  pity . I  can't 
rest  beside  your  father,  for  the  lake  never  gave  him  up  again.  Oh 
if  he  'd  only  lived  to  see  this  !  " 

Our  highest  joys  and  our  deepest  sorrows  are  closely  allied. 

Grubersepp  came  back  with  Hansei  and  was  the  first  to  con- 
gratulate Walpurga  and  the  grandmother.  He  advised  them, 
however,  to  say  nothing  of  the  matter  until  the  purchase  was  le- 
gally consummated. 

CHAPTER     XI. 

OX  Sunday,  Hansei,  Walpurga  and  the  mother,  went  to  church 
together.     The  child  remained  at  home  with  Gundel.     They 
walked  along  the  shore  of  the  lake  in  silence,  thinking  of  how  often 
they  had  gone  that  way  in  joy  and  in  sorrow,  and  hov.f  they  would 
feel  when  walking  along  another  path  and  to  another  church. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  317 

The  churchgoers  whom  they  met  on  the  way,  greeted  them 
coldly,  and  the  grandmother  said  : 

"  Do  n't  let  us  take  evil  thoughts  against  others  into  church  with 
us.  We  must  leave  them  outside." 

"  But  when  one  comes  out  again,  they  're  there  all  the  same,  just 
like  the  dogs  that  wait  at  the  church  door,"  replied  Walpurga 
sharply.  The  mother  looked  at  her  and  she  shook  her  head,  while 
she  said  :  "  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  people  are  not  nearly  so  bad  as 
they  make  believe  to  be.  They  think  it  makes  them  look  grander 
and  more  important,  if  they  show  that  they  can  be  angry  and 
spiteful ;  but  let  that  be  as  it  may,  if  we  can't  make  others  good, 
we  can  make  ourselves  better." 

"  Give  me  the  umbrella,  mother — I  can  carry  it  better  than  you," 
said  Hansei.  This  was  his  manner  of  expressing  his  assent. 

The  innkeeper  drove  by,  Hansei  saluted  him,  but  the  only  an- 
swer he  heard  was  the  cracking  of  the  whip. 

"  That 's  the  way,"  said  Hansei.  "  If  he  's  angry,  it 's  no  reason 
why  I  should  be." 

The  mother  nodded  her  approval. 

Although  the  service  had  both  edified  and  satisfied  them,  it  did 
not  prevent  Hansei  from  having  a  mighty  appetite  at  dinner  that 
day,  and  he.  said  : 

"  I  think  the  freeholder  can  eat  more  than  ever,  but  I  '11  see  to 
it  that  he  works  right  bravely,  too." 

Hansei  was  quite  merry,  but  he  did  not  climb  the  cherry  tree 
again. 

The  Doctor  and  his  wife  paid  them  a  visit  that  afternoon.  Wal- 
purga showed  the  pretty  gifts  she  had  received,  and  Frau  Hedwig 
was  all  admiration. 

"  I  shall  lay  this  beautiful  dress  aside  for  my  child's  wedding. 
You  can't  begin  thinking  of  the  outfit  too  soon." 

The  doctor  had  brought  a  good  supply  of  bottle  food.  He 
placed  the  bottles  on  the  table  and  said  : 

"  Hansei,  they  tell  me  that  you  're  doing  dry  penance,  and  as 
1  'm  a  heretic,  I  '11  pour  out  the  wine  for  you." 

He  proceeded  to  do  so  most  generously. 

Walpurga  brought  one  of  the  silver-sealed  bottles  of  wine  that 
Doctor  Gunther  had  given  her. 

Doctor  K  urn  pan  knew  how  to  open  the  bottles.  He  praised  the 
wine  but  bestowed  still  greater  praise  on  Gunther. 

"  I  think,"  said  Walpurga,  "that  we  ought  to  tell  our  honored 
guests  what  we  have  in  view.  They  're  honorable  people  and 
won't  carry  it  further." 

"You're  right,"  said  Hansei,  and  told  them  about  the  faim. 
The  Doctor  and  his  wife  congratulated  them,  and  were  only  sorry 
that  such  good  people  were  about  to  leave  the  neighborhood.  En- 
couraged by  the  wine,  Hansei  asked  : 


3i8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Doctor,  might  I  — be  so  free — ?  You  see,  you  're  rtally  the 
cause  of  our  good  fortune.  Would  you  do  us  the  honor  to  accept 
a  present  from  us  ?  " 

"  Let 's  hear  what  it  is.  How  many  thousand  florins  will  yoj 
spend  on  me  ?  " 

Hansei  was  quite  frightened  ;     he  had  not  meant  to  go  that  far. 

"You  're  a  merry  gentleman ;  you  're  full  of  fun,"  said  he,  col- 
lecting his  wits.  "What  I  meant  to  say,  was — I've  got  three 
cords  of  wood  out  in  the  forest.  I  only  finished  cutting  it  last 
week,  and  I  'd  like  to  take  it  to  your  house." 

"  I  '11  do  you  the  favor  of  accepting  it.  I  see  you  're  a  real 
farmer  already.  You  have  an  itching  palm  and  money  clings  to  it. 
Take  care  to  remain  so." 

That  Sunday  had  other  honors  in  store  for  them,  for  when  the 
afternoon  service  was  over,  the  pastor  called.  He  told  them  that 
he  intended  to  leave  for,  the  capital  on  the  following  day,  and  re- 
minded Walpurga  of  her  promise  to  give  him  a  letter  to  Countess 
Wildenort.  Laughing  heartily,  Doctor  Kumpan  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah !  so  her  highness  Countess  Wildenort  is  your  friend,  and 
the  pastor — " 

"  Doctor,  I  'd  like  to  speak  a  word  with  you,"  said  Walpurga,  in- 
terrupting him.  "Come,  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

She  had  learned  one  lesson  at  court :  viz.,  that  a  firm  yet  po- 
lite manner  enables  one  to  check  or  avert  many  an  ill-natured  re- 
mark. There  was  a  certain  grandeur  in  her  manner  when  she 
told  the  Doctor  that,  in  her  house,  she  would  allow  no  one  to 
speak  ill  of  Countess  Irma,  just  as  she  would  allow  no  one  to  say 
anything  against  the  Doctor.  That  would  be  just  as  false  as  what 
was  said  about  the  Countess,  who,  while  she  was  merry  enough  to 
be  his  comrade,  was  just  as  good  as  he  was.  Walpurga  added 
that  she  hoped  he  would  not  grieve  her  by  speaking  ill  of  the 
Countess. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  Walpurga  in  astonishment.  When  he 
came  back  into  the  room,  he  said  to  Hansei : 

"  You  've  got  a  great  wife  ;  one  \vhose  friendship  is  an  honor  to 
any  one." 

Walpurga  went  to  her  room  and  wrote  : 

"  My  Dearly  Beloved  Countess : 

•'  I  take  this  opportunity  to  write  to  you.  Our  pastor  is  going  Lo 
the  city,  and  has  promised  to  be  kind  enough  to  take  the  letter 
with  him  and  deliver  it  to  you.  I  do  n't  know  what  else  he  wishes 
to  do,  but  rest  assured  that  whatever  he  wants  is  all  right.  H<  's 
very  kind  to  me,  and  particularly  so  since  I  've  come  home  agi  .n. 
And  now  I  'd  like  to  write  you  how  things  are  going  with  me.  I 
could  n't  ask  God  to  make  them  better.  To  have  one's  husband, 
mother,  child,  and  one's  daily  work  besides  !  WTe  've  already  made 
our  hay,  but  not  make-believe,  as  it  used  to  be  with  us  on  the  lawn 
at  the  summer  palace.  Do  n't  you  remember? 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  319 

"  Dear  me  !  I  say  with  us,  and  who  knows  whether  any  one  at  the 
palace  still  thinks  of  me  ? 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  you  do,  my  good  Countess ;  and  my  child,  I 
mean  the  prince,  and  the  queen  and  Mademoiselle  Kramer  and  her 
father,  too. 

"  Pray  give  my  love  to  them  all.  the  Doctor  and  Baron  Schoning1 
and  Countess  Brinkenstem.  Sne  's  good,  too,  and  Madame  Gunther, 
also,  if  you  should  meet  her.  Oh,  what  a  woman  she  is !  I  'in 
sorry  enough  that  I  only  made  her  acquaintance  the  day  before  I 
left.  You  ought  to  go  to  see  her  every  day.  Your  blessed  mother 
must  have  been  just  such  a  woman  as  she  is  ;  and  do  me  the  favor 
and  write  me  how  my  prince  is  getting  on.  He  's  fond  of  you,  too, 
and  if  you  get  married,  let  me  know,  and,  if  there  's  an  opportunity, 
Mademoiselle  Kramer  might  send  me  the  beautiful  distaff.  It 
would  be  a  great  pity  if  it  had  to  lie  up  there  in  the  garret. 

"  My  husband  was  very  sorry  that  he  didn't  get  to  see  you,  and 
I  was  sorry,  too.  I  must  always  try  to  forget  how  you  looked  that 
morning,  and  when  I  try  to  picture  my  beautiful  Countess  and  good 
friend  to  myself,  I  have  to  pass  over  that. 

"  My  mother  sends  her  respects  ;  she  remembers  your  mother  and 
says  that  when  one  looked  into  her  face  it  was  like  looking  at 
the  sun. 

'"  My  child  was  quite  stubborn  at  first.  You  saw,  by  the  prince, 
how  stubborn  children  can  be  when  they  do  n't  like  a  person  ;  but 
my  child  and  I  are  very  good  friends,  and  the  best  thing  in  the 
world,  after  all,  is  to  have  a  child,  something  to  do,  and  a  little  prop- 
erty besides.  Ah  !  to  walk  about  with  one's  child  is  to  have  a 
fountain  of  life  with  you ;  one  from  which  you  can  drink  pure  hap- 
piness at  any  moment. 

"  It  often  seems  like  a  dream,  when  I  think  that  I  've  been  away ; 
and  it 's  well  that  it 's  past.  I  feel  that  I  could  n't  go  through  it 
again,  and  all  that  I  wish  for  now  is  to  live  happy. 

"  I  kiss  this  sheet,  for  your  hands  will  touch  it. 
"  From  your  true  friend, 

"WALPURGA  ANDERMATTEN. 

"  Postscript. — I  Ve  got  some  new  songs  here,  but  they  're  not 
pretty.  I  've  no  time  to  sing  during  the  day,  and  if  I  did  n't  sing 
my  child  to  sleep  of  an  evening,  I  'd  never  have  a  chance  to  sing 
at  all.  • 

"  Excuse  me  for  writing  so  badly,  but  my  hands  have  become 
hard  already,  and  the  paper  and  ink  are  very  bad.  Yes,  that 's 
what  all  bad  writers  say.  Once  more,  farewell !  I  'm  writing  in  haste 
and  the  pastor  's  waiting  in  the  other  room  and  the  Doctor  and  his 
wife  are  here  too.  They  're  mighty  good  people,  and  if  there  are 
many  wicked  and  envious  folks  in  the  world,  they  harm  themselves 
more  than  they  do  others.  My  dear  Countess,  you  can't  imagine 
how  much  good  you  've  done  us.  You  '11  be  rewarded  for  it — you, 


320  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

your  children,  and  your  grandchildren.  It  's  as  good  as  certain 
that  we  won't  stay  here  ;  but  there  's  the  same  sky  everywhere.  And 
when  you  see  your  father,  give  him  my  mother's  respects.  She 
has  n't  forgotten  his  kindness  to  her,  and  you  are  his  daughter,  and 
have  your  good  heart  from  him  and  your  mother.  All  that  1  wish 
is  that  you  still  had  such  a  mother  as  mine.  But  mother  's  right : 
she  says  that  there  's  no  use  wishing  for  what  you  can't  have.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  to  write  you  a  great  deal  more,  but  I  can't  think  of 
anything  else,  and  they  're  calling  for  me  from  the  other  room. 
Farewell !  my  best  wishes,  thousandfold,  for  your  health  and  hap- 
piness. From  my  very  heart,  I  wish  you  all  that 's  good.  Oh,  if  I 
could  only  go  to  you  with  this  letter  !  But  I  'm  glad  to  be  home 
and  mean  to  remain  as  long  as  I  live.  Farewell,  all  you  good  peo- 
ple out  in  the  world." 

\\~alpurga  handed  the  letter  to  the  pastor  who  left  soon  afterward. 
He  was  not  fond  of  being  with  the  Doctor,  who  was  a  sad  heretic. 
Towards  evening,  the  Doctor  and  his  wrife  left,  and  Walpurga  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  the  fact  that  all  the  villagers  knew  of  the  dis- 
tinguished visitors  who  had  called  at  the  cottage.  None  of  their 
neighbors  could  boast  of  like  honor. 

The  week  wrent  by  quietly.  Hansei  was  absent  for  several  days, 
during  which  time  he  concluded  the  purchase. 

The  little  pitchman  had  asked  permission  to  be  present  when  the 
money  for  the  farm  wyas  paid,  and  had  requested  this  as  an  especial 
favor.  His  face  brightened  when  he  saw  the  heaps  of  gold,  and 
when  Grubersepp  asked :  "  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  answered,  as  if 
waking  from  a  dream  : 

"  Yes,  it 's  true  ;  I  could  n't  have  believed  it.  I  've  often  heard, 
in  old  stories,  of  such  heaps  of  gold.  The  whole  lot  of  stuff  does  n't 
weigh  more  than  a  couple  of  pounds,  and  you  can  get  the  whole 
farm  for  it.  Yes,  yes.  I  '11  remember  that  to  the  end  of  my  days." 

Grubersepp  laughed  heartily.  The  little,  gray-haired  man  must 
have  thought  himself  quite  young  to  talk  thus  of  the  end  of  his 
days  as  a  thing  of  the  remote  future. 

On  Friday,  the  pastor  returned.  He  had  not  seen  Countess 
Irma,  as  she  had  accompanied  the  court  to  a  watering  place.  He 
had  left  the  letter  at  the  palace,  and  was  told  that  it  would  be  for- 
warded to  her. 

CHAPTER     XII. 

THE  weather-cock  turned  again  and  indicated  fair  weather.     The 
sky  was  almost  cloudless. 

With  men's  minds  it  was  just  the  same.  It  was  rumored  in  the 
village  that  Hansei  had  bought  the  farm  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lake,  and  that  he  had  paid  for  it  in  ready  money.  How  could  any 
one  harbor  ill-feeling  against  a  man  who  was  able  to  do  that? 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  321 

No ;  it  was  shameful,  on  the  part  of  the  innkeeper,  to  drive  a  man 
like  Hansei,  and  such  a  woman  as  Walpurga,  from  the  village. 
They  were  a  credit  to  every  one,  to  say  nothing  of  the  advantage 
i;  is  to  have  such  rich  and  good  people  in  the  place — people,  more- 
over, who  have  themselves  been  poor  and  know  how  the  poor  feel. 

Hansei  and  Walpurga  now  received  kindly  greetings  wherever 
they  went,  and  all  spoke  of  their  intended  departure  as  if  it  grieved 
them  to  think  of  it. 

The  ringleader  on  the  Sunday  that  the  band  had  come  to  the 
house,  the  very  one,  indeed,  who  wanted  to  play  a  trick  on  Hansei, 
now  came  and  offered  to  engage  with  him  as  a  farm  hand.  Hansei 
replied  that,  for  the  present,  he  would  keep  the  servants  who  were 
at  the  farm,  and  that,  in  the  beginning,  he  would  require  people  who 
knew  all  about  the  neighborhood  and  the  farm  itself.  He  said  that 
he  might  be  able  to  employ  him  later.  Hansei  was  obliged  to 
travel  back  and  forth  quite  frequently.  There  were  many  legal 
matters  to  be  arranged,  and,  besides,  there  was  an  old  resident  on 
the  property  who  had  a  life-claim  against  the  estate,  for  mainte- 
nance and  support,  and  whom  money  would  not  induce  to  quit 
the  house. 

"And  do  you  know,"  said  Hansei,  one  day,  "who  helped  me 
ever  so  much  ?  We  had  quite  forgotten  that  Stasi  lives  up  there 
near  the  frontier,  about  three  leagues  from  the  farm.  Her  husband 
is  the  under-forester  at  that  district.  He  showed  me  the  forest,  and 
he  's  quite  right  when  he  says  that  paths  can  be  made,  so  that 
beams  and  planks  may  be  brought  down.  Won't  you  go  with  me 
sometime,  and  take  a  look  at  our  new  home?  " 

"I'll  wait  till  we  go  there  for  good,"  answered  Walpurga. 
"Wherever  you  take  me  to,  I  '11  be  satisfied,  for  we  '11  be  together, 
and  you  can't  imagine  how  happy  mother  is." 

Although  the  grandmother  had,  before  this,  rarely  thought  of 
dying,  she  often  complained  that  she  would  n't  live  long  enough  to 
move  to  the  farm  with  them,  and  thus,  as  mother  of  the  farmer's 
wife,  return  to  where  she  had  once  been  a  servant.  All  day  long, 
she  would  tell  Walpurga  of  the  beautiful  apple  trees  in  the  great  gar- 
den there,  and  of  the  brook  whose  water  was  such  that  the  articles 
washed  in  it  would  become  as  white  as  snow,  and  that,  too,  without 
using  a  particle  of  soap.  She  also  extolled  the  virtue  of  the  people 
who  were  living  there,  and  cautioned  Walpurga  to  use  good  judg- 
ment in  dispensing  the  gifts  which  it  would  now  be  her  duty  to  be- 
stow on  others.  She  knew  the  old  pensioner  and  was  indeed  dis- 
tantly related  to  him.  They  must  treat  him  kindly,  and  thus  bring 
blessings  on  the  house. 

Time  sped  by  and  the  hour  of  departure  gradually  drew  near. 

Walpurga  had  already  packed  the  clothing  and  household  uten- 
sils, but  was  obliged  to  unpack  them  again,  as  they  were  needed. 
As  the  time  for  their  departure  drew  near,  the  villagers  became 
14* 


322  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

even  more  kindly  and  affable  towards  them,  and  Walpurga  com 
plained  to  her  mother  : 

"  I  feel  just  as  I  did  when  I  was  about  to  leave  the  palace.  I  was 
always  anxious  to  get  away,  but  when  the  time  came,  I  felt  worried 
about  leaving." 

"  Yes,  child,"  said  the  mother,  consoling  her,  "it  will  be  just  the 
same  wrhen  you  leave  the  world.  How  often  one  would  like  to  go, 
bur  when  the  time  comes,  one  is  n't  anxious  to  leave.  O  my  child  ! 
I  feel  as  if  the  whole  world  were  speaking  to  me  and  as  if  I  under- 
stood it  all.  Everything,  men  and  women  especially,  seems  at  its 
best  when  you  have  to  part  from  it.  That  's  the  way  it  is  when  one 
parts  with  life.  For  it  is  n't  till  then  that  we  begin  to  understand 
how  beautiful  the  world  is,  after  all,  and  how  many  good  hearts  we 
leave  behind  us." 

Walpurga  and  her  mother  were  now  able  to  talk  with  each  other, 
to  their  hearts'  content,  for  they  no  longer  got  an  hour  of  Hansei's 
company.  He  spent  much  of  his  time  with  Grubersepp  whom  he 
accompanied  into  the  fields,  and  from  whom  he  received  much  ad- 
vice and  instruction. 

One  evening  a  messenger  came,  asking  Hansei  to  come  to  Gru- 
bersepp's  at  once.  He  hurried  off  and  did  not  return  until  late. 
Walpurga  and  her  mother,  curious  to  know  wThat  was  going  on, 
sat  up  for  him.  It  was  near  midnight  when  he  returned,  and 
Walpurga  asked  :  "  What 's  the  matter?  " 

"  ( imbersepp  has  got  a  colt." 

Walpurga  and  her  mother  almost  split  their  sides  with  laughter. 

"What  is  there  to  laugh  at?"  asked  Hansei  almost  angry. 
"  And  besides,  the  signs  are  that  it  '11  be  a  white  one." 

They  burst  out  laughing  again,  and  Hansei  looked  amazed.  He 
told  them,  in  great  earnest,  that  Grubersepp  had  sent  for  him,  so 
that  he  might  learn  all  about  it,  and  he  was  just  about  to  acquaint 
them  with  the  latest  bit  of  information  he  had  acquired  :  namely, 
that  foals  are  never  born  white.  But  he  thought  better  of  it ;  for 
it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  n't  do  to  tell  the  women  all  he 
knew,  for  they  laughed  so  stupidly  at  everything.  Besides,  a  rich 
farmer  ought  to  be  on  his  dignity  with  the  women  ;  he  would  n't 
forget  that  Grubersepp  was  so,  too. 

Hansei  received  various  offers  for  his  cottage  and  was  always 
provoked  when  it  was  spoken  of  as  a  tumbledown  old  shanty.  He 
always  looked  as  if  he  meant  to  say :  "  Do  n't  take  it  ill  of  me, 
good  old  house ;  the  people  only  abuse  you  so  that  they  may  get 
you  cheap."  Hansei  stood  his  ground.  He  would  not  sell  his 
home  for  a  penny  less  than  it  was  worth  ;  and,  besides  thai,  he 
owned  the  fishing'right  which  was  also  worth  something.  Gruber- 
f  epp  at  last  took  the  house  off  his  hands,  with  the  design  of  putting 
a  servant  of  his,  who  intended  to  marry  in  the  fall,  in  possession 
of  the  place. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  323 

All  the  villagers  were  kind  and  friendly  to  them — nay,  doubly 
so,  since  they  were  about  to  leave — and  Hansei  said : 

"  It  hurts  me  to  think  that  I  must  leave  a  single  enemy  behind 
me.  I  'd  like,  to  make  it  up  with  the  innkeeper." 

Walpurga  agreed  with  him,  and  said  that  she  would  go  along , 
that  she  had  really  been  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  and  that  if  the 
innkeeper  wanted  to  scold  any  one,  he  might  as  well  scold  he  %  '.  oo. 

Hansei  did  not  want  his  wife  to  go  along,  but  she  insisted  upon  it. 

It  was  on  the  last  evening  in  August,  that  they  went  up  into  the 
village.  Their  hearts  beat  violently  while  they  drew  near  to  the 
ini..  There  was  no  light  in  the  room.  They  groped  about  the 
j torch,  but  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  Dachsel  and  Wachsel,  how- 
ever, were  making  a  heathenish  racket.  Hansei  called  out : 

"  Is  there  no  one  at  home?  " 

"No.  There's  no  one  at  home,"  answered  a  voice  from  the 
dark  room. 

"Well,  then  tell  the  host,  when  he  returns,  that  Hansei  and  his 
wife  were  here,  and  that  they  came  to  ask  him  to  forgive  them  if 
they  've  done  him  any  wrong,  and  to  say  that  they  forgive  him,  too 
and  wish  him  luck."  ' 

"  All  right ;  I  '11  tell  him,"  said  the  voice.  The  door  was  again 
slammed  to,  and  Dachsel  and  Wachsel  began  barking  again. 

Hansei  and  Walpurga  returned  homeward. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  was  ?  "  asked  Hansei. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  't  was  the  innkeeper  himself." 

"Well,  we  've  done  all  we  could." 

They  found  it  sad  to  part  from  all  the  villagers.  They  listened 
to  the  lovely  tones  of  the  bell  which  they  had  heard  every  hour 
since  childhood.  Although  their  hearts  were  full,  they  did  not  say 
a  word  about  the  sadness  of  parting.  Hansei  at  last  broke  silence  : 

"  Our  new  home  is  n't  out  of  the  world,  we  can  often  come 
here." 

When  they  reached  the  cottage  they  found  that  nearly  all  of  the 
villagers  had  assembled,  in  order  to  bid  them  farewell,  but  every 
one  added  :  "  I  '11  see  you  again  in  the  morning." 

Grubersepp  also  came  again.  He  had  been  proud  enough 
before ;  but  now  he  was  doubly  so,  for  he  had  made  a  man  of  his 
neighbor,  or  had,  at  all  events,  helped  to  do  so.  He  did  not  give 
way  to  tender  sentiment.  He  condensed  all  his  knowledge  of  life 
into  a  couple  of  sentences,  which  he  delivered  himself  of  most 
bluntly. 

"I  only  want  to  tell  you,"  said  he,  "you'll  now  have  lots  of 
servants.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  best  of  them  are  good  for 
nothing ;  but  something  may  be  made  of  them,  for  all.  He  who 
would  have  his  servants  mow  well,  must  himself  take  the  scythe  in 
hand.  And  since  you  got  your  riches  so  quickly,  do  n't  forget  the 
proverb  :  '  Light  come,  light  go.'  Keep  steady,  or  it  '11  go  ill  witb 
you." 


324  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  gave  him  much  more  good  advice,  and  Hansei  accompanied 
him  all  the  way  back  to  his  house.  With  a  silent  pressure  ol  the 
hand,  they  took  l^ave  of  each  other. 

The  house  seemed  empty,  for  quite  a  number  of  chests  and 
boxrs  had  been  sent  in  advance  by  a  boat  that  was  already  crossing 
the  lake.  On  the  following  morning,  two  teams  would  be  in 
w;  king  en  the  other  side. 

"So  this  is  the  last  time  that  we  go  to  bed  in  this  house,"  said 
the  mother.  They  were  all  fatigued  with  work  and  excitement, 
and  yet  none  of  them  cared  to  go  to  bed.  At  last,  however,  they 
could  not  help  doing  so,  although  they  all  slept  but  little. 

The  next  morning,  they  were  up  and  about  at  an  early  hour. 
Having  attired  themselves  in  their  best  clothes,  they  bundled  up 
the  beds  and  carried  them  into  the  boat.  The  mother  kindled  the 
last  fire  on  the  hearth.  The  cows  were  led  out  and  put  into  the 
boat,  the  chickens  were  also  taken  along  in  a  coop,  and  the  dog 
was  constantly  running  to  and  fro. 

The  hour  of  parting  had  come. 

The  mother  uttered  a  prayer  and  then  called  all  of  them  into 
the  kitchen.  She  scooped  up  some  water  from  the  pail  and  poured 
it  into  the  fire,  with  these  words:  "May  all  that  's  evil  be  thus 
poured  out  and  extinguished,  and  let  those  who  light  a  fire  after 
us.  find  nothing  but  health  in  their  home." 

Hansei,  "\Valpurga  and  Gundel  were,  each  of  them,  obliged  to 
pour  a  ladleful  of  water  into  the  fire,  and  the  grandmother  guided 
the  child's  hand,  while  it  did  the  same  thing. 

After  they  had  all  silently  performed  this  ceremony,  the  grand- 
mother prayed  aloud  : 

"  Take  from  us,  O  Lord  our  God  !  all  heartache  and  homesickness 
and  all  trouble,  and  grant  us  health  and  a  happy  home  where  we 
next  kindle  our  fire." 

She  was  the  first  to  cross  the  threshold.  She  had  the  child  in 
her  arms  a*nd  covered  its  eyes  with  her  hands,  while  she  called  out 
to  the  others : 

"  Do  n't  look  back  when  you  go  out." 

"Just  wait  a  moment,"  said  Hansei  to  Walpurga  when  he  found 
himself  alone  with  her.  "Before  we  cross  this  threshold  for  the 
last  time,  I  've  something  to  tell  you.  I  must  tell  it.  I  mean  to 
be  a  righteous  man  and  to  keep  nothing  concealed  from  you.  I 
must  tell  you  this,  Walpurga.  While  you  were  away  and  Black 
JLsthc-r  lived  up  yonder,  I  once  came  very  near  being  wicked  and 
unfaithful — thank  God,  I  was  n't.  But  it  torments  me  to  think 
that  I  ever  wanted  to  be  bad  ;  and  now,  Walpurga,  forgive  me 
and  God  will  forgive  me,  too.  Now  I  've  told  you,  and  have 
nothing  more  to  tell.  If  I  were  to  appear  before  God  this  moment, 
I  'd  know  of  nothing  more." 

Walpurga  embraced  him  and,  sobbing,  said  :  "  You  're  my  dear, 
good  husband,"  and  they  crossed  the  threshold  for  the  last  time. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  325 

When  they  reached  the  garden,  Hansei  paused,  looked  up  at  the 
cherry  tree  and  said  : 

"  And  so  you  remain  here.  Won't  you  come  with  us  ?  We  've 
always  been  good  friends  and  spent  many  an  hour  together.  But 
wait !  I  '11  take  you  with  me,  for  all,"  cried  he,  joyfully,  "and  I  '11 
plant  you  in  my  new  home." 

He  carefully  dug  out  a  shoot  that  was  sprouting  up  from  one  of 
the  roots  of  the  tree.  He  stuck  it  in  his  hat  band  and  went  down 
to  join  his  wife  at  the  boat. 

From  the  landing  place  on  the  bank,  were  heard  the  merry  sounds 
of  fiddles,  clarionets  and  trumpets. 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

HANSEI  hastened  to  the  landing  place.  The  whole  village  had 
congregated  there  and,  with  it,  the  full  band  of  music.  Tailor 
Schneck's  son,  he  who  had  been  one  of  the  cuirassiers  at  the 
christening  of  the  crown  prince,  had  arranged,  and  was  now  con- 
ducting, the  parting  ceremonies.  Schneck,  who  was  scraping  his 
bass  viol,  was  the  first  to  see  Hansei,  and  he  called  out,  in  the  midst 
of  the  music : 

"  Long  live  farmer  Hansei  and  the  one  he  loves  best !  Hip,  hip, 
hurrah  !  " 

The  early  dawn  resounded  with  their  cheers.  There  was  a 
flourish  of  trumpets,  and  the  salutes  fired  from  several  small 
mortars  were  echoed  back  from  the  mountains.  The  large  boat  in 
which  their  household  furniture,  the  two  cows  and  the  fowls  were 
placed,  was  adorned  with  wreaths  of  fir  and  oak.  Walpurga  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  boat,  and  with  both  hands  held  the 
child  aloft,  so  that  it  might  see  the  great  crowd  of  friends  and  the 
lake  sparkling  in  the  rosy  dawn. 

"  My  master's  best  respects,"  said  one  of  Grubersepp's  servants, 
leading  a  snow  white  colt  by  the  halter,  "  he  sends  you  this  to  re- 
member him  by." 

Grubersepp  was  not  present.  He  disliked  noise  and  crowds. 
He  was  of  a  solitary  and  self-contained  temperament.  Neverthe- 
less, he  sent  a  present  which  was  not  only  of  intrinsic  value,  but 
was  also  a  most  flattering  souvenir ;  for  a  colt  is  usually  given  by 
a  rich  farmer  to  a  younger  brother  when  about  to  depart.  In  the 
eyes  of  all  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  the  whole  village,  Hansei  ap- 
peared as  the  younger  brother  of  Grubersepp. 

Little  Burgei  shouted  for  joy  when  she  saw  them  leading  the 
snow-white  foal  into  the  boat. 

Gruberwaldl,  who  was  but  six  years  old,  stood  by  the  whinny- 
ing colt  stroking  it,  and  speaking  kindly  to  it. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  the  farm  with  me  and  be  my  servant  ? ' 
asked  Hansei  of  Gruberwaldl. 


326  a\T  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Yes  indeed,  if  you  '11  take  me." 

"See,  what  a  boy  he  is,"  said  Hansei  to  his  wife.  "  What  a 
boy  !  " 

Walpurga  made  no  answer,  but  busied  herself  with  the  child. 

Hansei  shook  hands  with  every  one  at  parting.  His  hand 
trembled,  but  he  did  not  forget  to  give  a  couple  of  crown  thalers  to 
the  musicians. 

At  last  he  got  into  the  boat  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Kind  friends  !  I  thank  you  all.  Do  n't  lorget  us,  and  we  shan't 
forget  you.  Farewell !  may  God  protect  you  all." 

Walpurga  and  her  mother  were  in  tears. 

"And  now,  in  God's  name,  let  us  start."  The  chains,  were 
loosened  ;  the  boat  put  off.  Music,  shouting,  singing,  and  the 
firing  of  cannon  resounded  while  the  boat  quietly  moved  a\vay 
from  the  shore.  The  sun  burst  forth  in  all  his  glory. 

The  mother  sat  there,  with  her  hands  clasped.  All  were  silent. 
The  only  sound  heard  was  the  neighing  of  the  foal. 

Walpurga  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "O  dear  Lord  !  if 
people  would  only  show  each  other  half  as  much  love  during  life 
as  they  do  when  one  dies  or  moves  away." 

The  mother,  who  was  in  the  middle  of  a  prayer,  shook  her  head. 
She  quickly  finished  her  prayer  and  said  :  "  That 's  more  than  one 
has  a  right  to  ask.  It  won't  do  to  go  about  all  day  long  with  your 
heart  in  your  hand.  But  remember,  I  've  always  told  you  that  the 
people  are  good  enough  at  heart,  even  if  there  are  a  few  bad  ones 
among  them." 

Hansei  bestowed  an  admiring  glance  upon  his  wife,  who  had  so 
many  different  thoughts  about  almost  everything.  He  supposed  it 
was  caused  by  her  having  been  away  from  home.  But  his  heart 
was  full  too,  although  in  a  different  way. 

"I  can  hardly  realize,"  said  Hansei,  taking  a  long  breath  and 
putting  the  pipe  which  he  had  intended  to  light,  back  into  his 
pocket.  "What  has  become  of  all  the  years  that  I  spent  there 
and  all  that  I  went  through  during  the  time.  Look,  Walpurga ! 
the  road  you  see  there  leads  to  my  home.  I  know  every  hill 
and  every  hollow.  My  mother  's  buried  there.  Do  you  see  the 
pines  growing  on  the  hill  over  yonder  ?  That  hill  was  quite  bare  ; 
every  tree  was  cut  down  when  the  French  were  here  ;  and  see  how 
fine  and  hardy  the  trees  are  now.  I  planted  most  of  them  myself. 
I  was  a  little  boy  about  eleven  or  twelve  years  old  when  the  forester 
hired  me.  He  had  fresh  soil  brought  for  the  whole  place  and  cov- 
ered the  rocky  spots  with  moss.  In  the  spring,  I  worked  from  six 
in  the  morning  till  seven  in  the  evening,  putting  in  the  little  plants. 
My  left  hand  was  almost  frozen,  for  I  had  to  keep  putting  it  into  a 
tub  of  wet  loam  with  which  I  covered  the  roots.  I  was  scantily 
dothed  into  the  bargain  and  had  nothing  to  eat,  all  day  long,  but 
a  piece  of  bread.  In  the  morning  it  was  cold  enough  to  freeze  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  327 

marrow  in  one's  bones,  and,  at  noon,  I  was  almost  roasted  by  the 
hot  sun  beating  on  the  rocks.  It  was  a  hard  life.  Yes,  I  had  a  hard 
time  of  it  when  I  was  young.  Thank  God,  it  has  n't  harmed  me 
any.  But  I  shan't  forget  it ;  and  let 's  be  right  industrious  and 
give  all  we  can  to  the  poor.  I  never  would  have  believed  that 
I 'd  live  to  call  a  single  tree  or  a  handful  of  earth  my  own  ;  and 
now  that  God  has  given  me  so  much,  let 's  try  and  deserve  it  all." 
i  Hansel's  eyes  blinked,  as  if  there  was  something  in  them,  and  he 
'pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  forehead.  Now,  while  he  was  pulling 
himself  up  by  the  roots  as  it  were,  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  how 
thoroughly  he  had  become  engrafted  into  the  neighborhood  by  the 
work  of  his  hands  and  by  habit.  He  had  felled  many  a  tree,  but 
he  knew  full  well  how  hard  it  was  to  remove  the  stumps. 

The  foal  grew  restive.  Gruberwaldl,  who  had  come  with  them 
in  order  to  hold  it,  was  not  strong  enough,  and  one  of  the  boatmen 
was  obliged  to  go  to  his  assistance. 

"Stay  with  the  foal,"  said  Hansei.     "I  '11  take  the  oar." 

"And  I,  too,"  cried  Walpurga.  "Who  knows  when  I  '11  have 
another  chance  ?  Ah  !  how  often  I  've  rowed  on  the  lake  with 
you  and  my  blessed  father." 

Hansei  and  Walpurga  sat  side  by  side  plying  their  oars  in  per- 
fect time.  It  did  them  both  good  to  have  some  employment  which 
would  enable  them  to  work  off  the  excitement. 

"I  shall  miss  the  water,"  said  Walpurga;  "without  the  lake, 
life  '11  seem  so  dull  and  dry.  I  felt  that,  while  I  was  in  the  city." 

Hansei  did  not  answer. 

"  At  the  summer  palace,  there  's  a  pond  with  swans  swimming 
about  in  it,"  said  she,  but  still  received  no  answer.  She  looked 
around  and  a  feeling  of  anger  arose  within  her.  When  she  said 
anything  at  the  palace,  it  was  always  listened  to. 

In  a  sorrowful  tone,  she  added  :  "  It  would  have  been  better  if 
we  'd  moved .  in  the  spring ;  it  would  have  been  much  easier  to 
get  used  to  things." 

"  Maybe  it  would,"  replied  Hansei,  at  last,  "but  I  've  got  to  hew 
wood  in  the  winter.  Walpurga,  let 's  make  life  pleasant  to  each 
other,  and  not  sad.  I  shall  have  enough  on  my  shoulders,  and 
can't  have  you  and  your  palace  thoughts  besides." 

Walpurga  quickly  answered :  "  I  '11  throw  this  ring,  which  the 
queen  gave  me,  into  the  lake,  to  prove  that  I  've  stopped  thinking 
of  the  palace." 

"  There  's  no  need  of  that.  The  ring  's  worth  a  nice  sum  and, 
besides  that,  it 's  an  honorable  keepsake.  You  must  do.  just  as  I 
do." 

"  Yes  ;  only  remain  strong  and  true." 

The  mother  suddenly  stood  up  before  them.  Her  features  were 
illumined  with  a  strange  expression  and  she  said  : 

"  Children  !  Hold  fast  to  the  good  fortune  that  you  have.    You  'vtf 


328  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

gone  through  fire  and  water  together ;  for  it  was  fire  when  you 
were  surrounded  by  joy  and  love  and  every  one  greeted  you  with 
kindness — and  you  passed  through  the  water,  when  the  wickedness 
of  others  stung  you  to  the  soul.  At  that  time,  the  water  was  up  to 
your  neck,  and  yet  you  were  n't  drowned.  Now  you  've  got  over 
it  all.  And  when  my  last  hour  comes,  do  n't  weep  for  me ;  foi 
through  you  I  've  enjoyed  all  the  happiness  a  mother's  heart  can 
have  in  this  world." 

She  knelt  down,  scooped  up  some  water  with  her  hand  and 
spiinkled  it  over  Hansel's,  and  also  over  Walpurga's  face. 

They  rowed  on,  in  silence.  The  mother  laid  her  head  on  a 
roll  of  bedding  and  closed  her  eyes.  Her  face  wore  a  strange  ex- 
pression. After  awhile  she  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  casting 
a  glance  full  of  happiness  on  her  children,  she  said : 

"Sing  and  be  merry.  Sing  the  song  that  father  and  I  so  often 
sang  together ;  that  one  verse,  the  good  one." 

Hansel  and  Walpurga  plied  the  oars  while  they  sang : 

Ah,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee ; 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by, 
When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

They  repeated  the  verse  again,  although,  at  times,  the  joyous 
shouting  of  the  child  and  the  neighing  of  the  foal  bade  fair  to  in- 
terrupt it. 

The  singing  and  shouting  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  young 
sailor,  who  cried  out : 

"  There  's  some  one  floating  there  !  it 's  a  human  being — there  ! 
the  head  's  over  water  !  do  n't  you  see  it  ?  there  's  the  long,  coal- 
black  hair  floating  on  the  water.  Some  woman 's  drowned  herself, 
or  has  fallen  overboard." 

Even-  one  in  the  boat  looked  towards  the  point  indicated.  The 
object  rose  and  fell  on  the  waves.  It  appeared  to  be  a  human 
face  that  would,  now  and  then,  rise  to  the  surface  and  sink  again. 
All  were  dumb  with  terror,  and  Hansei  rubbed  his  eyes,  asking 
himself:  "Was  it  imagination  or  was  it  reality?"  He  thought  he 
had  recognized  the  face  of  Black  Esther  rising  on  the  waves  and 
sinking  again.  It  floated  on,  further  and  further,  and,  at  last,  sank 
out  of  sight. 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Walpurga,  "it's  nothing.  Don't  let  us 
make  ourselves  unhappy." 

"  You 're  a  stupid  fellow,"  said  the  old  boatman,  scolding  his 
comrade.  "It  was  nothing  but  a  dead  crow  or  some  other  bird 
floating  on  the  water.  Who  'd  say  such  a  thing?  "  added  he  in  a 
\vhisper.  "  If  we  get  but  little  drink  money,  it  '11  be  your  fault. 
They  were  so  happy  that  they  'd  have  given  us  a  thaler  at  least, 
but  now  you  can  see  Hansei  rummaging  in  his  purse.  He  's  look- 
ing for  small  change,  and  it 's  all  your  fault." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  329 

Without  knowing  why,  Hansei  had  indeed  pulled  out  his  purse, 
and  was  fumbling  in  it.  He  was  so  bewildered  with  what  he  had 
seen — it  was  true,  after  all — but  it  could  not  be  right — just  new- 
to-day,  when  all  was  forgiven  and  past ;  and,  after  all,  he  had  n't 
sinned. 

In  order  to  regain  his  composure,  he  counted  out  several  pieces 
of  money.  That  restored  his  spirits.  He  was  able  to  count ;  his 
senses  had  returned.  He  had  resigned  the  oar  and,  with  his  piece 
of  chalk,  had  actually  been  making  some  calculations  on  the  bench. 
But  he  soon  rubbed  them  out  again. 

"  There  's  the  other  shore,"  said  he,  looking  up  and  lifting  his  hat, 
"we  '11  soon  be  there.  I  can  see  the  wagon  and  horses  and  Uncle 
Peter  there  already.  I  can  see  our  blue  chest." 

"  Heavens  !  "  cried  Walpurga,  and  the  oar  remained  motionless 
in  her  hands.  "  Heavens  !  Who  is  it  ?  Who  is  that  figure  ?  I 
can  take  my  oath  that,  while  we  were  singing,  I  thought  to  myself: 
If  only  my  good  Countess  Irma  could  see  us  sitting  in  the  boat  to- 
gether. It  would  have  made  her  happy  to  see  that,  and  just  then 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if — " 

"I  'm  glad,"  said  Hansei,  interrupting  her,  "that  we  're  getting 
to  shore.  If  this  lasts  much  longer,  we  '11  all  lose  our  wits." 

On  the  distant  shore,  some  one  was  seen  running  to  and  fro. 
The  figure  was  wrapped  in  a  flowing  dress,  and  suddenly  started 
when  the  wind  wafted  the  sound  of  music  across  towards  her. 
She  sank  to  the  earth  and  seemed  to  be  crouching  on  the  bank. 
Now  that  the  sound  had  died  away,  she  arose  and  fled,  disappear- 
ing among  the  bushes. 

"  Did  n't  you  see  anything?"  asked  Walpurga  again. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  If  I  was  superstitious,  and  it  was  n't  in  the  day- 
time, I  'd  have  thought  it  was  the  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

The  boat  reached  the  bank.  Walpurga  was  the  first  to  leap 
ashore.  Leaving  her  people,  she  ran  towards  the  bushes  as  fast 
as  she  could,  and  there,  behind  the  willows,  the  figure  fell  on  hci 
neck  and  fainted. 


BOOK    V. 


CHAPTER     I. 

^PHE  summer  was  almost  at  an  end  when  the  court  returned 
I  from  the  baths. 

The  king's  first  official  act  was  to  sign  the  proclamation  of  the 
Schnabelsdorf  ministry,  dissolving  the  refractory  Chamber  of  Dep- 
uties and  ordering  a  new  election. 

The  king  was  displeased ;  and  yet,  that  which  now  surprised 
him  was  the  inevitable  consequence  of  his  previous  doings.  He 
had  returned  in  high  spirits,  but,  like  an  importunate  creditor,  the 
state  was  already  thrusting  its  claims  upon  him. 

He  felt  happy  that  his  government  met  with  popular  approval ; 
but  that,  he  thought,  should  be  a  matter  of  course.  And  now  a 

great  question  was  to  be  submitted  to  the  country,  and  there  were 
oubts  as  to  what  the  answer  might  be. 

Schnabelsdorf  exercised  his  great  conversational  gifts,  and 
adroitly  endeavored  to  humor  the  heroic  side  of  the  king's  charac- 
ter. But  his  efforts  were  in  vain. 

The  whole  land  was  in  great  commotion,  but  of  this  they  knew 
little  or  nothing  at  court.  The  autumn  manoeuvres  had  begun, 
and  in  a  few  days  the  court  expected  to  move  to  the  summer 
palace,  after  which,  hunting  in  the  Highlands  was  to  begin. 

The  king  had  seldom  taken  so  lively  an  interest  in  the  manoeu- 
vres. The  ease  and  precision  with  which,  on  such  occasions,  large 
bodies  of  men  were  moved  at  will,  afforded  a  suggestive  contrast 
to  the  spirit  of  disorganization  and  breaking  away  from  authority 
which  seemed  abroad  in  the  land.  Nothing,  however,  was  further 
from  his  thoughts  than  the  idea  of  bringing  the  two  opposing 
tendencies  to  bear  upon  each  other. 

At  the  court  assemblages,  the  king  always  seemed  to  be  in 
an  exceptionally  pleasant  mood.  The  greater  his  ill-humor,  the 
more  he  regarded  it  his  duty  to  keep  up  the  outward  semblance 
of  cheerfulness.  The  habit,  acquired  in  youth,  of  always  keeping 
up  his  dignity ;  the  knowledge  that  the  eyes  of  all  were  upon  him  ; 
a  due  consideration  for  the  claims  of  those  about  him  ;  the  need 
of  always  speaking  the  right  word  at  the  right  time  ;  above  all,  the 
art  of  ignoring — an  art  in  which  others  refrain  from  indulging 
themselves,  and  which,  for  that  very  reason,  requires  practice— 


332  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and,  added  to  this,  the  consciousness  of  possessing  kingly  power: 
— all  this  prevented  him  from  betraying  the  slightest  tra'ce  of  ill- 
humor.  He  manifested  a  lively  interest  in  whatever  was  going  on, 
especially  so,  when  Irma  was  present.  She,  above  all,  should  never 
find  him  wavering,  for  she  would  have  misinterpreted  it.  It  was 
therefore  necessary,  in  her  presence,  to  keep  up  that  exalted  mood 
which  regards  dissent  or  contradiction  as  impossible,  and  thus 
esteems  itself  as  above  the  law.  And  yet  the  king  felt  the  danger 
of  encouraging  a  secret  passion  while  all  his  strength  was  required 
by  a  weighty  problem,  in  the  solution  of  which  he  would  necessa- 
rily encounter  great  opposition. 

Irma  returned  from  her  visit  to  the  sea-shore,  refreshed  and  in- 
vigorated. She  was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  but  was  rarely  seen 
at  court,  as  she  spent  much  of  her  time  with  Arabella.  On  the 
day  after  Arabella  had  given  birth  to  a  boy,  Irma  and  the  Doctor 
left  Bruno's  house  together. 

Irma  was  about  to  say :  "  I  am  beginning  to  get  tired  of  this 
everlasting  nursery,"  but  checked  herself  in  time. 

The  Doctor  did  not  utter  a  word,  while  accompanying  her  down 
the  carpeted  stairs.  His  features  wore  a  serious  expression.  He 
had  been  living  in  the  great  world  for  many  years,  but,  even  now, 
it  offended  his  sense  of  justice  when  he  saw  the  joys  of  paternity 
fall  to  the  share  of  one  who,  like  Bruno,  had  led  what  is  mildly 
termed  a  "fast  life."  The  Doctor  pressed  the  ivory  handle  of  his 
cane  against  his  lips,  as  if  thus  to  prevent  his  thoughts  from  rinding 
vent  in  words.  Silently,  he  seated  himself  in  the  carriage  with 
Irma.  They  drove  to  the  palace. 

"  My  sister-in-law  has  imposed  a  difficult  task  upon  me,"  said 
Irma. 

Gunther  did  not  enquire  as  to  the  nature  of  the  task,  and  Irma 
was  obliged  to  continue  of  herself : 

"  She  made  me  promise  that  I  'd  inform  father  of  the  birth  of 
his  grandson.  If  you  were  still  on  former  terms  of  intimacy 
v.'ith  him,  you  would  be  the  best  mediator." 

"I  can  do  nothing,"  replied  Gunther,  curtly.  He  was  unusually 
reserved  in  his  manner  towards  Irma.  She  felt  conscious  of  this, 
and  felt,  too,  that  she  no  longer  had  a  right  to  claim  unreserved 
confidence  on  the  part  of  her  friends.  But  as  she  did  not  wish  to 
break  with  those  whom  she  esteemed,  it  was  necessary  to  main- 
tain relations  of  courtesy  with  them. 

"  I  believe  that  Bruno''s  better  nature  will  now  assert  itself,"  said 
Irma.  She  forced  herself  to  speak,  and  trembled  when  she  thought 
that  the  man  who  sat  beside  her  might  suddenly  ask  her:  "What 
have  you  done  with  your  better  nature  ?  " 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  palace.  Irma  alighted  and 
Gunther  drove  home. 

Once  in  her  room,  Irma  pressed  both  hands  to  her  heart  as  if 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  333 

to  allay  the  storm  within.  "Must  I  beg  every  one  tp  prove  his 
friendly  feeling  by  silence,  or  to  admit  that  I  am  right  ?  (Those  who 
despise  the  wo,rjd's  laws  and  have  soared  above  them.had  better 
cease  to  live.JT/  She  aroused  herself  by  a  violent  effort  and  be- 
gan the  lettefTo  her  father.  She  complained  that  she  had  had  no 
news  from  him  for  a  long  while.  She  wrote  about  Arabella,  in- 
formed him  that  Bruno  had  become  a  steady  paterfamilias,  and, 
at  last,  mentioned  the  birth  of  the  grandson.  She  also  wrote  that 
Arabella  begged  for  a  few  lines  from  the  grandfather  and  that  they 
would  render  her  happy. 

Irma  found  her  letter  a  difficult  task.  Her  pen  usually  re- 
sponded to  to  every  varying  phase  of  feeling ;  but,  that  day,  it  seemed 
to  stumble  and  hesitate.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  picked 
up  a  letter  that  she  had  found  lying  there.  It  was  Walpurga's. 
She  smiled  while  reading  it,  and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  hav- 
ing benefited  a  fellow  creature  who,  although  distant,  held  her  in 
faithful  remembrance. 

The  waitingmaid  announced  Bruno's  groom.  Irma  had  hin\ 
come  in.  He  had  come  to  express  his  master's  desire  that  the 
gracious  Countess  should  at  once  dispatch  the  letter  she  had  prom- 
ised to  write,  and  said  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  take  it  to  the 
post-office  himself.  Irma  sealed  it  and  gave  it  to  him. 

Bruno,  seated  in  his  dog-cart,  was  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the 
palace  square.  The  groom  handed  him  the  letter.  Bruno  put  it 
in  his  pocket.  He  drove  to  the  post-office  and,  with  his  own  hands, 
dropped  a  letter  into  the  box.  This  epistle,  however,  was  directed 
to  a  lady.  The  one  intended  for  his  father  he  retained  in  his  pos- 
session. He  was  determined  not  to  humble  himself,  either  through 
his  sister  or  his  wife. 

The  box  into  which  Bruno  dropped  the  perfumed  billet-doux 
contained  letters  for  old  Eberhard, — letters  which  Bruno  could  not 
intercept. 

CHAPTER  II. 

ON  the  very  morning  that  his  first  grandchild  was  born,  Count 
Eberhard  was  returning,  with  a  light  heart,  from  a  walk  in  the 
fields.  They  had  begun,  that  day,  to  gather  the  first  harvest  from 
a  large,  tray-formed  tract  of  land  which  had  once  been  a  swamp. 
Eberhard  had  drained  the  desolate  tract  with  great  care  and  judg- 
ment, and  now  it  produced  unequaled  crops.  The  sight  of  the 
ripened  grain,  waving  in  the  gentle  breeze,  inspired  him  with  pure 
and  happ>  feelings,  and  he  thought  of  the  generations  to  come, 
who  would  derive  sustenance  from  a  tract  of  land  rendered  fertile 
by  him. 

He  felt  no  desire  to  impart  his  happiness  to  another.  He  had 
accustomed  himself,  in  the  past,  to  live  within  himself.  His 


334  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

one  real  life-burden  he  had  confessed  to  his  daughter.  He  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  the  repose  which  solitude  alone  affords.  He 
imagined  that  pure  reflection  had  conquered  all  passion.  He 
always  obeyed  the  inner  voice  of  nature ;  there  was  no  one  tor 
whose  sake  he  was  obliged  to  repress  it.  He  had  faithfully  en- 
deavored to  perfect  himself  and,  while  placing  himself  beyond 
the  reach  of  temptation,  had,  at  the  same  time,  withdrawn  from 
social  activity. 

When  he  left  his  work  in  field  or  forest,  it  was  to  commune  with 
those  great  ones  who  had  long  since  left  the  world,  and  with  whose 
profoundest  thoughts  he  felt  himself  in  full  accord. 

He  had  just  come  in  from  the  fields  and  was  about  to  repair  to 
his  library^,  there  to  converse  with  a  spirit  that  had  long  since  left  this 
world.  His  step  was  steady,  his  mind  was  calm  and  placid.  He 
could,  at  will,  preserve  a  certain  state  of  feeling,  or  resign  himself 
to  the  guidance  of  a  spirit  living  in  another  sphere.  His  life  lay  in 
two  distinct  spheres,  and  yet  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other 
was  never  violent. 

The  impressions  of  the  moment  had  already  clothed  themselves 
in  words,  and  he  was  about  to  note  them  down  in  a  little  book  which 
bore  the  inscription:  "Self-redemption." 

Entering  the  manor-house,  he  found  a  number  of  persons  wait- 
ing for  him  in  the  great,  long,  harvest  hall  which  was  hung  with 
garlands  and  wreaths.  They  saluted  him  as  he  approached.  The 
village  burgomaster,  who  had,  hitherto,  represented  that  district  at 
the  Diet,  and  many  other  persons  of  local  importance  were  as- 
sembled there.  The  burgomaster  was  the  spokesman  of  the  party 
and  stated  that  in  the  forthcoming  election,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  relinquish  the  field  to  blockheads  and  bigots,  unless  they  could 
nominate  a  candidate  whose  high  personal  character  and  influence 
would  secure  them  victory.  Colonel  Bronnen,  who  had  been  rec- 
ommended by  Count  Eberhard,  had  refused  to  stand,  and  now 
Count  Eberhard  was  the  only  one  who  could  defeat  the  enemy. 
The  electors  said  that  they  well  knew  what  a  sacrifice  it  would  be 
for  him  to  take  part  in  the  canvass.  They  had,  therefore,  waited 
until  now,  the  day  of  the  election,  and  they  urgently  entreated 
him  not  to  withdraw  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

"Yes,"  added  the  burgomaster,  "you  Ve  drained  a  swamp  and 
carried  ofi  the  foul  water ;  and  now  you  must  help  us  in  this,  too." 

To  their  great  surprise  and  delight,  Eberhard,  without  further 
objection,  declared  his  willingness  to  stand.  He  had  succeeded  in 
one  undertaking,  and,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  felt  that  he  had  no 
right  to  avoid  assuming  the  greater  trust  now  offered  him.  The 
old  enemy  was  still  in  force,  and  it  was  meet  that  the  old  warriors 
should  go  forth  to  battle  against  him. 

The  friends  left  and,  after  giving  a  few  orders  to  the  servants, 
Eberhard  followed.  He  rode  a  large,  powerful  horse,  such  as  a 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  335 

large,  strong  man  requires.  He  caught  up  with  his  friends  before 
they  reached  the  town,  and  thus  made  his  entry  with  quite  a  fol- 
lowing. 

He  presented  himself  before  the  assembled  electors.  The  hall 
was  almost  full.  The  people  were  astonished  to  see  the  Count, 
but  the  glances  turned  towards  him  were  soon  withdrawn,  and 
much  whispered  conversation  ensued.  Making  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  Eberhard  walked  up  to  the  speaker's  stand.  Few  stood 
up  or  greeted  him.  Why  was  it  ?  At  other  times,  the  crowd 
would  always  make  way  for  him  ;  but  to-day,  he  had  to  push  his 
way  through  them.  It  almost  vexed  him,  but  he  controlled  him- 
self. "  This  is  the  true  effect  of  free  thought ;  homage  should  not 
be  bestowed  according  to  custom  and  precedence ;  it  should  only 
be  for  those  who  have  earned  it.  You  are  still  an  aristocrat  at 
heart,  and  are  still  filled  with  pride  of  ancestry — pride  in  your  own 
past."  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind, 
while,  with  a  smile,  he  rejoiced  in  the  victory  he  had  won  over 
himself. 

The  first  one  to  mount  the  speaker's  stand  was  the  candidate  of 
the  "Blacks,"  as  the  popular  party  termed  their  opponents.  He 
spoke  with  cleverness,  but  without  fervor,  and  it  was  evident  that 
his  address  had  been  carefully  studied.  He  made  several  clever 
points,  however,  which  were  received  with  loud  applause. 

The  retiring  delegate  came  forward  and,  stating  that  he  declined 
a  re-election,  proposed  Count  Eberhard  of  Wildenort,  the  tried 
champion  of  freedom  and  popular  rights. 

The  assembly  seemed  taken  by  surprise.  There  was  but  little 
clapping  of  hands,  and  few  bravos  were  heard.  Count  Eberhard 
was  quite  taken  aback  by  this  cool  reception  and  looked  about  him 
in  astonishment.  The  burgomaster  whispered  to  him  that  this  was 
a  sure  sign  of  victory,  and  that  the  enemy  was  confounded. 
Eberhard  merely  nodded.  A  strange  feeling  of  embarrassment 
arose  within  him.  He  repressed  it,  and  mounted  the  speaker's 
stand.  With  every  step,  he  gained  in  courage  and  became  more 
fully  persuaded  that  it  was  his  duty  to  defend  the  new  trust  without 
regard  to  thought  of  self.  He  began  his  speech  by  giving  an  ac- 
count of  his  past  life  and  struggles,  adding,  with  a  smile,  that  there 
were  many  present  who,  like  himself,  had  gray  hairs,  and  that 
there  was  no  need  of  telling  them  what  he  desired.  He  was 
glad,  however,  to  find  that  there  were  so  many  younger  men 
present. 

They  listened  with  considerable  patience.  Among  the  opposi- 
tion there  was,  now  and  then,  loud  talking  which  was,  however, 
soon  silenced.  Eberhard  went  on  speaking.  Suddenly  loud  peals 
of  laughter  resounded  through  the  assemliy,  and  the  words  "left 
handed  father-in-law  "  were  heard.  Eberhard  did  not  know  what 
it  meant,  and  went  on  with  his  remarks.  The  talking  in  the  crowd 


336  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

grew  louder.  Drops  of  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow.  The  burg- 
omaster mounted  the  stand  and  exclaimed  :  "Whoever  is  n't  will- 
ing to  listen  to  a  man  like  Count  Eberhard,  does  n't  deserve  to 
have  a  vote." 

Breathless  silence  ensued.     Eberhard  concluded  with  the  words : 

"  I  am  proud  enough  to  tell  you  that  I  do  n't  ask  you  for  your 
votes.  I  simply  say  that  I  accept  the  nomination." 

lie  left  the  assembly,  but,  before  doing  so,  begged  his  friends 
to  remain.  He  rode  home,  filled  with  the  thought  that  he  had 
separated  himself  from  the  world,  instead  of  having  conquered  it. 

He  alighted  as  soon  as  he  came  to  his  own  land  in  the  valley, 
and  gave  orders  to  some  of  the  laborers.  When  he  returned  to 
the  road,  he  met  the  postman,  who  handed  him  several  letters. 
Eberhard  opened  the  first  and  read:  " Your  daughter  has  fallen 
into  disgrace,  and  yet  stands  in  high  grace  as  the  mistress  of  the 
king.  To  her  the  country  owres  the  restoration  of  the  ecclesiastical 
ministry.  If  you  still  doubt,  ask  the  first  person  you  meet  in  the 
streets  of  the  capital.  Unhappy  father  of  a  happy  daughter."  It 
was  signed  "  The  Public  Voice." 

Eberhard  tore  up  the  letter  and  gave  the  shreds  to  the  winds 
which  carried  them  far  away  over  the  fields. 

"  Anonymous  letters,"  said  he,  "are  the  meanest  things  conceiv- 
able. They  are  far  lower  than  cowardly  assassination,  and  yet — " 
It  seemed  as  if  the  breeze  \vhich  carried  the  shreds  away  had  now 
returned,  laden  with  the  expression  that  he  had  heard  at  the  meet- 
ing. Had  they  not  said  "left  handed  father-in-law  ?  " 

Eberhard  pressed  his  hand  to  his  brow — the  thought  was  like  a 
burning  arrow  piercing  his  brain.  He  opened  the  second  letter  and 
read  :  "  You  do  not  care  to  believe  how  it  stands  with  your  daugh- 
ter. Ask  him  who  was  once  your  friend.  Ask  the  king's  physician, 
on  his  honor  and  conscience.  He  will  tell  you  the  truth.  Save 
what  may  yet  be  saved.  Then  will  the  writer  of  these  lines  divulge 
his  name.  From  one  who  greatly  esteems  you.  *  *  *  " 

Eberhard  did  not  destroy  this  letter ;  he  held  it  in  his  trembling 
hand.  A  mist  suddenly  rose  before  him.  He  passed  his  hands 
over  his  eyes  as  if  to  brush  it  away ;  but  it  still  remained,  growing 
denser  with  each  succeeding  moment.  He  tried  to  read  the  letter 
again,  but  could  not  distinguish  a  word  of  it.  He  crumpled  up  the 
paper  and  put  it  in  his  breast  pocket,  where  it  lay  like  a  burning 
coal  against  his  heart.  His  head  swam  and  he  sat  down  by  ihe 
wayside.  What  could  he  do  ?  They  would  smile  if  he  went  to 
court  to  fetch  her.  They  would  be  very  gracious  and  would  say : 
"  Let  there  be  no  scenes,  no  noise.  Let  even-thing  be  arranged 
quietly;  let  there  be  no  scandal;  decorum  must  be  maintained." 
And  one  must  smile,  though  his  heart  is  bursting.  We  live  in  a 
civilized  world,  and  this  they  call  culture  and  good  manners.  Oh  ! 
you  are  well  off.  With  you,  all  is  pastime.  You  can  afford  to  be 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  337 

ever  polite,  ever  cool  and  reserved.  O,  why  did  I  come  home  to 
waste  my  powers  in  this  miserable  nook  !  It 's  all  my  own  fault. 
I  meant  to  rescue  myself  from  the  hurly-burly  of  the  world.  I  've 
lost  my  children,  instead.  A  satanic  sophist  lurks  in  us  all.  I 
persuaded  myself  that  it  was  better,  and  more  in  accordance  with 
nature,  to  let  my  children  grow  up,  free  from  all  control ;  and  yet  it 
was  only  a  vain  excuse  for  my  own  weakness.  Because  the  duty 
of  incessantly  watching  over  them  was  distasteful  to  me,  I  suffered 
them  to  go  to  ruin,  while  persuading  myself  that  their  nature  could 
thus  best  develop  itself.  And  here  I  stand,  and  must  fetch  my 
child— 

The  sudden  neighing  of  the  horse,  hitched  to  a  tree  near  by,  so 
startled  Eberhard  that  he  almost  fell  back.  A  laborer  who  was 
bringing  two  horses  in  from  the  field,  stopped  and  asked  :  "  What 
ails  you,  master?" 

The  lab'orer  unhitched  the  horse.  Eberhard  rose  hastily  and, 
Without  saying  a  word,  walked  up  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the 
manor-house.  He  felt  as  if  the  air  was  filled  with  intangible,  electric 
clouds  that  drew  torn  back ;  but  he  forced  his  way  through  them. 
He  reached  the  house  and  held  fast  by  the  doorposts.  He  was 
giddy,  but  still  he  did  not  give  up.  He  went  through  the  stables 
and  barns,  saw  the  men  storing  away  the  fodder,  and  remained 
looking  at  them  for  a  long  while.  Then  he  went  through  the 
whole  house  and  looked  at  every  object  with  an  enquiring  gaze. 
In  the  great  room  with  the  bay-window,  he  lingered  long  before  a 
picture  of  Irma,  painted  when  she  was  but  seven  years  old,  a 
beautiful,  large-eyed  child.  The  attitude  was  natural,  a  mixture  of 
childlike  awkwardness  and  grace.  The  painter  had  wanted  to  put 
a  nosegay  in  the  child's  hand,  but  she  had  said :  "  I  won't  have 
dead  flowers ;  give  me  a  pot  with  living  flowers  in  it."  Ah,  she 
had  had  such  pretty  conceits  !  There  she  stood,  the  very  picture 
of  childish  grace,  with  rosy  cheeks,  and  with  blooming  roses  in  her 
hand.  "A  rose  plucked  before  the  storm  could  scatter  its  petals." 
These  last  words  of  Emilia  Galotti  passed  through  his  mind. 
"  No,  I  am  not  that  strong." 

He  rang,  but  when  the  servant  came,  had  forgotten  what  he 
wanted.  The  effort  to  collect  his  scattered  thoughts  seemed  like 
plunging  into  chaos.  At  last  he  ordered  the  carriage,  which  was 
all  he  had  wanted  the  servant  for. 

"  The  traveling  carriage,"  he  called  out  after  the  servant. 

When  he  reached  the  library,  he  paused,  and  gazed  at  the  door 
for  a  while.  There  were  so  many  great  and  mighty  minds  in  there 
— why  did  none  of  them  come  to  his  aid  ?  There  is  no  help  but 
that  we  find  within  ourselves. 

While  descending  the  steps,  he  would,  now  and  then,  hold  fast 
to  the  baluster  as  if  to  support  himself.  He  drew  himself  up,  as  if 
filled  with  anger  because  of  the  weakness  that  mastered  him.  In 
15 


338  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  courtyard,  he  gave  orders  that  the  carriage  should  drive  on  and 
meet  him  down  in  the  valley.  His  speech  was  noticeably  indistinct. 
Half  way  down  the  mountain,  he  suddenly  seated  himself  on  a 
heap  of  stones  and  looked  about  him. 

What  was  passing  before  his  eyes  ?  What  thoughts  filled  his 
mind  ?  He  looked  for  the  tree  which  he  had  planted  on  the  very 
spot  where  word  was  brought  him  of  Irma's  birth.  This  is  the 
first  soil  trodden  by  her  feet ;  these  are  the  first  trees  she  ever  saw. 
The  sky,  the  forests,  the  mountains,  the  blooming  flowers,  the 
merry  birds,  the  grazing  cows — all,  all  seemed  like  phantoms. — 
None  of  these  will  ever  find  you  pure  again.  Never  again  dare 
you  approach  a  living  creature,  or  tree  or  flower ;  for  they  repudi- 
ate you,  they  are  pure  and  you  are The  world  's  a  paradise. 

You  have  been  driven  thence,  and  roam  about,  a  restless  fugitive. 
You  may  deaden  your  conscience,  may  smile  and  jest  and  dissem- 
ble ;  but'the  sun  does  not  dissemble,  neither  does  the  earth,  nor  your 
own  conscience.  You  've  destroyed  the  world  and  yourself,  and 
still  live, — dead  in  a  dead  world.  How  is  it  possible  ?  It  cannot  be. 
I  am  mad.  I  shall  neither  punish  nor  chastise  you ;  but  you  must 
know  who  and  what  you  are,  and  the  knowledge  of  that  will  be 
your  punishment  and  your  cure.  I  shall  palliate  nothing ;  you 
must  know,  see,  and  acknowledge  it  all,  yourself — 

A  road  laborer  went  up  to  the  Count  and  asked  whether  he  was 
ill.  He  had  noticed  him  sitting  on  the  stones,  and  supposed  that 
something  might  be  wrong. 

"  Not  well !  "  groaned  Eberhard,  "  Not  well  ?  It  would  be  well 
for  me  if  I — " 

He  got  up  and  walked  away. 

A  grief-stricken  mother  can  shed  tears  ;  a  father  cannot. 

His  head  was  bowed  on  his  chest.  He  saw  blooming  roses ; 
they  should  have  adorned  her.  He  saw  thorns  ;  they  should  tear 
her  brow.  Anger  and  grief  struggled  within  him.  Anger  raged  ; 
grief  wept.  Anger  would  have  lent  him  giant  strength,  with  which 
to  destroy  the  world  ;  but  grief  crushed  his  very  soul. 

Suddenly  he  drew  himself  up,  and,  as  if  driven  by  the  storm,  ran 
down  the  road,  over  the  ditch  and  across  the  meadow, — only  stop- 
ping when  he  reached  the  apple  tree. 

"  This  is  the  tree — you  're  decked  with  ruddy  fruit — and  she — 
Woe  is  me  !  life  is  pitiless  !  " 

A  deep  cry  of  pain  escaped  him.  The  road  laborer  above,  and 
the  driver  who  was  waiting  with  the  carriage  below,  heard  him 
and  ran  to  his  help.  They  found  him  lying  on  the  ground,  face 
downwards.  He  was  foaming  at  the  mouth  and  was  unable  to 
speak.  They  bore  him  into  the  castle. 

CHAPTER     III. 

'"THROUGHOUT  the  capital,   schools,   offices  and  workshops 
1    were  closed.     With  the  exception  of,  now  and  then,  a  noisy 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  339 

group  of  men  who  soon  entered  a  large  building  and  disappeared 
from  view,  the  streets  were  given  over  to  women  and  children.  It 
was  election  day.  It  seemed  as  if  the  thousand  and  one  diversified 
interests  and  sentiments  that  help  to  make  up  the  life  of  a  city  had 
converged  to  a  single  point — as  if  a  great  soul  were  communing 
with  itself.  Although  it  was  in  broad  daylight,  a  wondrous  silence 
rested  upon  the  deserted  streets.  Gunther's  carriage  had  just  come 
from  Bruno's  house,  and  now  stopped  at  the  town-hall.  The  Doctor 
alighted,  went  up  stairs  and  gave  in  his  vote.  In  consideration  of 
his  being  a  physician  in  active  practice,  he  was  allowed  to  vote 
before  his  turn.  He  returned  to  his  carriage  and  drove  home. 
When  he  entered  the  sitting-room,  his  wife  handed  him  a  telegram 
which  had  just  been  received.  Gunther  opened  it. 

"What's  the  matter?"  exclaimed  Madame  Gunther,  for  she 
had  never  before  seen  so  great  a  change  in  her  husband's  face. 

He  handed  her  the  telegram  and  she  read : 

"Count  Eberhard  Wildenort  paralyzed.  Deprived  of  speech. 
Send  word  to  son  and  daughter  to  come  at  once  ;  if  possible,  you 
also.  "DOCTOR  MANN,  District  Physician." 

•  "  You  are  going  ?  "  said  Madame  Gunther  in  an  agitated,  but 
scarcely  enquiring  tone.     Gunther  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  I  Ve  one  request  to  make,"  continued  Madame  Gunther. 
With  a  slight  motion  of  his  hand,  the  Doctor  intimated  that  he 
wished  her  to  proceed.  He  felt  as  if  his  tongue  were  palsied. 

"  I  'd  like  to  go  with  you,"  said  she. 

"I  do  n't  understand  you." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  wife,  and  when  Gunther  had  seated  himself, 
she  placed  her  gentle  hand  upon  his  lofty  forehead.  His  face 
brightened,  and  she  went  on  to  say : 

"  Wilhelm,  this  is  a  terrible  visitation.  Let  me  do  all  I  can  to 
alleviate  the  grief  of  the  lost  child  whom  this  dread  message 
will  soon  reach.  I  can  imagine  her  feelings.  Who  knows  ? 
Perhaps  her  own  actions  have  been  the  cause  of  this. — Although 
she  rides  in  her  carriage,  I  shall  assist  her  as  faithfully  as  if  she 
were  a  poor  outcast ;  and  if  the  poor  soul  repels  me,  I  shall  not 
leave  her.  I  do  n't  know  what  may  happen,  but  the  moment  may 
come  when  she  will  feel  it  a  comfort  to  rest  the  head  now  scourged 
by  thorns,  against  a  woman's  heart.  Do  let  me  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  no  objection.  For  the  present,  however,  you  had  better 
get  everything  ready  for  my  departure."  He  drove  to  Bruno's 
house. 

As  soon  as  the  latter  noticed  his  sad  looks,  he  exclaimed  :  "  And 
so  your  party  was  beaten  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Gunther,  gently  breaking  the  news  to  Bruno. 

Bruno  turned  away,  hurriedly  gathered  up  several  letters  tha 
were  l)ing  on  the  table  and  locked  them  up  in  his  desk.     He  was 
soon  ready  to  go  with  Gunther  to  Irma,  to  whom  they  broke  the 
sad  news  as  gently  as  possible. 


340  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  "  cried  Irma.  Not  another  word  escaped 
her.  She  went  into  her  bedchamber  and  threw  herself  on  the 
bed  ;  but  she  had  hardly  touched  the  pillow  before  she  sprang  up 
as  it  thrust  back,  and  then  knelt  on  the  floor  and  swooned  away. 
When  she  returned  to  the  reception  room,  her  features  wore  a  fixed, 
rigid  expression.  She  gave  hurried  orders  to  her  sen-ant  and  her 
maid  to  prepare  for  the  journey.  The  Doctor  withdrew,  in  order 
to  ask  for  leave  of  absence,  and  promised  to  procure  leave  for 
Irma,  too. 

"You  ought  to  bid  adieu  to  the  queen,  before  you  go,"  said 
Bruno. 

"  Xo,  no  !  "  cried  Irma,  vehemently.     "  I  cannot ;  I  will  not/' 

There  was  no  servant  in  the  antechamber.  There  wras  a  knock 
at  the  door.  Irma  started.  "  Was  the  king  coming? " 

"Come  in  !  "  said  Bruno. 

Madame  Gunther  entered. 

Irma  could  not  utter  a  word,  but  her  eyes  seemed  to  ask  :  "  You 
here?  and  now?" 

Madame  Gunther  told  her  that  she  had  heard  the  sad  news, 
and  would  regard  it  as  a  proof  of  her  friendship,  if  Irma  woukl 
allow  her  to  accompany  her. 

"Thank  you,  with  all  my  heart,"  stammered  Irma. 

"  Then  you  grant  my  request  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you ;  on  my  knees,  I  '11  thank  you ;  but  I  beg  of  you, 
do  n't  make  me  talk  much  now." 

"There  's  no  need  of  your  doing  so,  dear  Countess,"  said  Ma- 
dame Gunther.  "  You  've  apparently  neglected  or  forgotten  me  ; 
but  in  your  heart,  you  've  remembered  me.  And  even  if  it  were 
otherwise,  there  was  one  short  hour  during  which  \ve  opened  our 
hearts  to  each  other." 

Irma  raised  her  hands  as  if  to  shield  herself, — as  if  the  kind 
words  pierced  Her  like  so  many  arrows.  In  a  soothing  voice, 
Madame  Gunther  added :  "  I  shall  consider  it  a  kindness,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  be  kind  to  you  ;  you  have  no  mother  and,  per- 
haps— you  will  soon  have  no  father." 

Irma  groaned  aloud  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes.  "  My 
dear  child,"  said  Madame  Gunther,  placing  her  hand  upon  Irma's 
arm.  Irma  started — "  there  are  many  of  God's  creatures  on  earth, 
so  that  the  sympathy  of  those  whom  misfortune  has  spared  may 
serve  as  a  support  to  the  afflicted,  and  as  a  light  in  the  hour  of  dark- 
ness. I  beg  of  you,  do  not  be  proud  in  your  grief.  Let  me  share 
in  all  that  the  next  few  days  may  have  in  store  for  you." 

"  Proud  ?  proud  ?  "  asked  Irma,  suddenly  grasping  Madame 
Gunther's  hand  and  as  suddenly  dropping  it  again.  "  No,  dear 
honored  Madame.  I  appreciate  your  affectionate  motives.  I  un- 
derstand— I  know — all.  I  could  calmly  accept  your  kindness.  I 
know — at  least  I  think — that  I,  too,  would  have'just  acted  as  you 
io,  if-" 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  341 

"This  is  the  best  and  the  only  thanks,"  interposed  Madame 
Gunther,  but  Irma  motioned  her  to  stop,  and  continued  : 

"  I  entreat  you,  do  not  torture  me.  Your  husband  and  my 
brother  will  accompany  me.  I  beg  of  you,  say  nothing  more.  I 
thank  you  ;  I  -shall  never  forget  your  kindness." 

Gunther  entered  the  room  again  and  Irma  said  : 

"  Is  everything  ready  ?     We  have  no  time  to  lose." 

She  bowed  to  Madame  Gunther,  and  would  gladly  have  err- 
braced  her,  but  could  not. 

Madame  Gunther,  who  had  never,  before  this,  set  foot  in  the 
palace,  had  only  come  to  succor  a  ruined  one.  Never  had  the 
thought  of  herself  so  filled  Irma  with  anguish  and  remorse,  as 
when  this  embodiment  of  loving  kindness  had  held  out  her  hand 
to  her. 

The  thought  that  she  no  longer  dared  approach  the  pure  pained 
her  as  if  demons  were  tearing  her  to  pieces.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  throw  herself  at  Madame  Gunther's  feet.  She  controlled  her- 
self, however,  and,  looking  at  her  with  a  fixed  gaze,  passed  on. 

The  parrot  in  the  anteroom  spread  out  its  wings,  as  if  it,  too. 
wanted  to  go  along,  and  screamed :  "God  keep  you,  Irma  !  " 

As  if  veiled  in  a  cloud,  Irma  walked  through  the  corridor.  At 
the  palace-gate,  she  met  the  king  coming  out  of  the  park  with 
Schnabelsdorf,  who  had  a  number  of  dispatches  in  his  hand,  and 
whose  cheerful  looks  were  owing  to  the  news  of  victory  which  he 
had  just  received. 

To  Irma,  the  king  and  Schnabelsdorf  seemed  like  misty  forms. 
She  wore  a  double  black  veil,  for  she  did  not  care  to  gratify  the  idle 
curiosity  of  the  court,  by  making  a  show  of  the  face  on  which  grief 
had  done  its  work. 

The  king  drew  near.  She  could  not  remove  her  veil.  He  seemed 
far.  far  away.  She  heard  his  friendly  and,  of  course,  kind  words, 
but  she  knew  not  what  he  said. 

The  king  extended  his  hand  to  Gunther,  then  to  Bruno,  and,  at 
last,  to  Irma.  He  pressed  her  hand  tenderly,  but  she  did  not 
return  the  pressure. 

They  got  into  the  carriage.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  start, 
Irma,  noticing  Madame  Gunther's  hand  on  the  carriage  door,  bent 
down  and  kissed  it.  The  next  moment  they  were  gone. 

They  were  silent  for  some  time.  After  they  had  passed  'he 
first  village,  Bruno  took  out  a  cigar,  saying  to  Irma,  who  sat  oppo- 
site him  :  "  I  'm  a  man,  and  a  man  must  calmly  accept  the  inevita- 
ble. Show  that  you,  too,  have  a  strong  mind." 

Irma  did  not  reply.  She  threw  back  her  veil  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  Her  departure  had  been  so  hurried  that  she  was  just 
beginning  to  recover  herself. 

"  You  ought  to  have  taken  leave  of  the  queen  in  person,"  said 
Bruno,  in  a  calm  tone.  The  long  silence  was  irksome  to  him. 


342  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Such  dark  hours  should  be  made  to  pass  as  agreeably  as  possible. 
When  he  found  that  Irma  still  remained  silent,  he  added  :  "  Foi 
you  know  that  the  queen's  tender  nature  is  so  easily  offended." 

Jrma  still  made  no  reply,  but  Gunther  said  : 

"Yes;  it  were  sacrilege  to  offend  the  queen.  No  one  but  a 
savage  would  dare  to  weaken  her  faith  in  human  goodness  and 
veracity." 

Gunther  expressed  himself  with  unwonted  energy,  and  his  words 
cut  Irma  to  the  heart.  Was  it  she  who  had  committed  sacrilege? 
And  then  the  thought  gradually  dawned  upon  her:  the  queen  is 
his  ideal ;  the  king  is  mine.  Who  knows  whether  the  mask  of 
intellectual  affinity  may  not  have  served  to  screen —  Quick  as 
thought,  she  dropped  her  veil ;  her  breathing  was  short  and  fast ;  her 
cheeks  were  burning.  He  who  knows  himself  to  be — must  judge 
others — nothing  is  perfect — no  .one —  She  felt  as  if  she  must 
speak,  and  at  last  said  :  "  The  queen  deserves  to  have  a  friend  like 
you." 

"I  place  myself  beside  you,"  said  Gunther,  calmly.  "I  believe 
that  we  both  deserve  the  friendship  of  that  pure  heart." 

"  And  so  you  believe  that  friendship  can  exist  between  married 
people  of  different  sex  ?  "  enquired  Bruno. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Gunther. 

At  the  first  posting-house,  where  they  came  upon  noisy  crowds, 
the  postmaster  informed  them  that  the  election  was  going  on,  and 
that  the  contest  was  quite  an  excited  one.  The  "  Blacks  "  would 
certainly  be  defeated. 

Bruno,  who  had  alighted,  asked  the  postilion : 

"  My  noble  fellow-citizen,  have  you  exercised  your  sovereign 
right  of  voting  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  against  the  'Blacks'." 

They  drove  on. 

Bruno  did  not  get  out  at  the  other  stations.  They  were  drawing 
near  to  Eberhard's  district.  While  they  were  changing  horses  at 
the  assize  town,  they  heard  loud  cries  of:  "  Long  live  Count  Eber- 
hard  !  Victor}- !  " 

"  What 's  that?  "  enquired  Gunther,  putting  his  head  out  of  the 
carriage  door. 

He  was  informed  that,  in  spite  of  the  "  Blacks,"  Count  Eberhard 
would  prove  the  victor.  The  opposition  had  started  a  contemptible 
rumor,  intended  to  disgrace  the  old  Count.  But,  although  meant 
!o  injure  others,  it  had  proved  a  stumbling-block  to  themselves ; 
for  even,- one  had  said  :  "A  father  can't  help  what  his  child  does, 
and,  for  that  very  reason,  greater  respect  should  now  be  shown 
him." — Irma  drew  back  into  the  dark  corner  of  the  carriage  and 
held  her  breath. 

They  drove  on  without  saying  a  word. 

After  they  had  started,  Bruno  said  it  was  too  warm  for  him  in 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  343 

the  carriage,  and  that  it  did  not  agree  with  him  to  ride  backwards. 
Still,  he  would  not  suffer  Gunther  to  change  seats  with  him.  He 
ordered  the  carriage  to  stop  anft,  telling  the  lackey  to  sit  up  with 
the  driver,  placed  himself  on  the  back  seat,  next  to  the  waitingmaid. 
Irma  took  off  her  hat  and  laid  her  head  back.  It  was  heavy  with 
sad  thoughts.  Now  and  then,  when  the  road  lay  along  the  edge 
of  a  precipice,  she  would  quickly  raise  herself  in  her  seat.  She 
felt  as  if  she  must  plunge  into  the  abyss ;  but,  weak  and  feeble, 
she  would  fall  back  again.  Gunther,  too,  remained  silent ;  and 
thus  they  drove  on  through  the  night,  without  uttering  a  word. 

At  one  time,  the  waitingmaid  would  have  laughed  out  aloud,  but 
Bruno  held  his  hand  over  her  mouth  and  prevented  her. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

TT  was  near  midnight  when  the  travelers  reached  castle  Wildenort. 
1  The  servant  said  that  the  Count  was  sleeping,  and  that  the 
physician  who  lived  in  the  valley  was  with  him.  The  country 
doctor  left  the  sick-room  and  came  out  into  the  antechamber  to 
welcome  the  new  arrivals.  He  was  about  to  describe  the  case  to 
Gunther,  who,  however,  requested  him  not  do  so  until  he  had  him- 
self seen  the  patient.  Accompanied  by  Irma  and  Bruno,  he  went 
into  the  sick-room. 

Eberhard  lay  in  bed,  his  head  propped  up  by  pillows.  His  eyes 
were  wide  open,  and,  without  showing  the  slightest  emotion,  he 
stared  at  those  who  entered,  as  if  they  were  figures  in  a  dream. 

"  I  greet  you,  Eberhard,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Gunther.     The 

sick  man's  features  twitched   convulsively,   and  his  eyelids  rose 

quickly  and  as  quickly  fell  again,  while  he  gropingly  put  forth  his 

hand  towards  his  old  friend.     But  the  hand  sank  powerless,  on  the 

.  coverlet.     Gunther  grasped  it  and  held  it  fast. 

Irma  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot,  unable  to  move  or  utter  a 
word. 

"  How  are  you,  papa  ?  "  asked  Bruno. 

With  a  sudden  start,  as  if  a  shot  had  whizzed  by  his  ear,  Eber- 
hard turned  towards  Bruno  and  motioned  to  him  to  leave  the 
room. 

Irma  knelt  down  at  his  bedside,  while  Eberhard  passed  his 
trembling  hand  over  her  face.  It  became  wet  with  her  tears. 
Suddenly,  he  drew  it  back,  as  if  it  had  been  touching  a  poisonous 
rt-ptile.  He  averted  his  face  and  pressed  his  brow  against  the  wall ; 
an:l  thus  he  lay  for  a  long  while. 

Neither  Gunther  nor  Irma  spoke  a  word.  Their  voices  failed 
them  in  the  presence  of  him  who  had  been  deprived  of  speech. 
And  now  Eberhard  turned  again  and  gently  motioned  his  daughter 
to  leave  the  room.  She  did  so. 

Gunther  remained  alone  with  Eberhard.     It  was  the  first  time  in 


344  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

thirty  years  that  the  two  friends  had  met.  Eberhard  passed 
('.anther's  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  then  shook  his  head. 

Gunther  said:  "I  know  what  you  mean;  you  would  like  t<r 
weep,  but  cannot.  Do  you  understand  all  I  say  to  you?  " 

The  patient  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Then  just  imagine,"  continued  Gunther,  and  his  voice  had  a 
rich  and  comforting  tone,  "that  the  years  we've  been  separated 
from  each  other  were  but  one  hour.  Our  measure  of  time  is  a  dif- 
ferent one.  Do  you  still  remember  how  you  would  often  in  enthu- 
siastic moments  exclaim  :  '  We  've  just  been  living  centuries  '  ?  " 
There  was  again  a  convulsive  twitching  of  the  patient's  features, 
just  as  when  a  weeping  one  is  enlivened  by  a  cheerful  thought 
and  would  fain  smile,  but  cannot. 

Eberhard  attempted  to  trace  letters  on  the  coverlet,  but  Gunther 
found  it  difficult  to  decipher  them. 

The  sick  man  pointed  to  a  table  on  which  there  lay  books  and 
manuscripts.  Gunther  brought  several  of  them,  but  none  was  the 
right  one.  At  last  he  brought  a  little  manuscript  book,  the  cover 
of  which  was  inscribed  with  the  title  "  Self-redemption."  The  sick 
man  seemed  pleased,  as  if  welcoming  a  fortunate  occurrence. 

"  You  wrote  this  yourself.     Shall  I  read  some  of  it  to  you  ?  " 

Eberhard  nodded  assent.  Gunther  sat  do\vn  by  the  bed  and 
read  : 

"  May  this  serve  to  enlighten  me  on  the  day  and  in  the  hour 
when  my  mind  becomes  obscured. 

"  I  have  been  much  given  to  introspection.  I  have  endeavored 
to  study  myself,  without  regard  to  the  outward  conditions  of  time, 
standpoint,  or  circumstance.  I  perceive  it,  but,  as  yet,  I  cannot 
grasp  it.  It  is  a  dewdrop  shut  up  in  the  heart  of  a  rock. 

"There  are  moments  when  I  am  fully  up  to  the  ideal  I  have 
formed  for  myself,  but  there  are  many  more  when  I  am  merely  the 
caricature  of  my  better  self.  How  am  I  to  form  a  conception  of 
my  actual  self?  '  What  am  I  ? 

"  I  perceive  that  I  am  a  something  belonging  to  the  universe  and 
to  eternity. 

"  During  the  blessed  moments,  sometimes  drawn  out  into  hours, 
in  which  I  realize  this  conception,  there  is  naught  but  life  for  me 
—no  such  thing  as  death,  either  for  me  or  the  world. 

"  In  my  dying  hour,  I  should  like  to  be  as  clearly  conscious  as  I 
now  am  that  I  am  in  God,  and  that  God  is  in  me. 

"  Religion  may  claim  warmth  of  feeling  and  glory  of  imagina- 
tion as  her  j  ortion.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  have  attained  to  that 
clear  vision  which  includes  both  feeling  and  imagination. 

"In  troubled,  restless  days,  when  I  endeavored  to  grasp  the 
Infinite,  I  felt  as  if  melting  away,  vanishing,  disappearing.  I  longed 
to  know  :  \Vhat  is  God  ? 

"  And  now  I  possess  our  master's  answer :  Although  we  cannot 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  345 

picture  God  to  ourselves,  yet  we  have  a  clear  idea  or  conception  of 
Him. 

"For  us,  the  old  commandment:  'Thou  shalt  not  make  unto 
thyself  any  i/nage  of  God,'  signifies  thou  canst  not  make  to  thy- 
st  If  any  image  of  God.  Every  image  is  finite ;  the  idea  of  God 
is  that  of  infinity. 

"  Spinoza  teaches  that  we  must  regard  ourselves  as  a  part  of 
God— 

"  While  endeavoring  to  grasp  the  idea  of  the  whole,  I  came  to 
understand  what  is  meant  by  the  words :  '  The  human  mind  is 
part  of  the  divine  mind.' 

"  A  single  drop  rises  on  the  surface  of  the  stormy  ocean  of  rife. 
It  lasts  but  a  second — though  men  term  it  three  score  years  and 
ten — and  then,  glowing  with  the  light  it  receives  and  imparts, 
sinks  again. 

"  Man,  regarded  as  an  individual,  is,  both  by  birth  and  education, 
a  thought  entering  upon  the  threshold  of  the  consciousness  of 
God.  At  death,  he  simply  sinks  below  that  threshold,  but  he  does 
not  perish.  He  remains  a  part  of  eternity,  just  as  all  thought  en- 
dures in  its  consequences. 

"When  I  combine  a  number  of  such  individuals  or  thoughts 
and  term  them  a  nation,  the  genius  of  that  nation  enters  upon  the 
threshold  of  such  consciousness  as  soon  as  the  nation  begins  to 
have  a  history  of  its  own. 

"  Combining  the  nations  into  a  whole,  we  have  mankind  or  the 
totality  of  thought,  the  consciousness  of  God  and  of  the  world. 

"  I  have  often  felt  giddy  at  the  mere  thought  of  standing  firm 
and  secure,  on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  thought. 

"  May  these  thoughts  inspire  and  deliver  me  in  the  hour  of  dis- 
solution. There  is  no  separation  of  mortal  and  immortal  life,  they 
flow  into  each  other  and  are  one. 

"  1'he  knowledge  that  we  are  one  and  the  same  with  God  and 
the  universe  is  the  highest  bliss.  He  who  possesses  this,  never 
dies,  but  lives  the  life  eternal. 

"  Come  to  me  once  more,  thou  spirit  of  truth,  at  the  moment 
when  I  sink — 

"  Dust  cleaves  to  my  wings,  just  as  it  does  to  yonder  lark,  wing- 
ing its  flight  from  the  furrowed  field  into  ether.  The  furrow  is  as 
pure  as  the  ether,  the  worm  as  pure  as  the  lark — God  yet  dwells 
in  that  which,  to  us,  seems  lost  and  ruined.  An'd  should  my  eye 
be  dimmed  in  death — I  have  beheld  the  eternal  one —  My  eyes 
have  penetrated  eternity.  Free  from  distortion  and  self-destruction, 
the  immortal  spirit  soars  aloft — " 

When  Gunther  had  read  thus  far,  Eberhard  laid  his  hand  on  his 
lips  as  if  to  silence  him,  and  gazed  intently  into  his  eyes. 

"You   have  honestly  wrestled   with   yourself  and  the  highest 
ideas,"  said  Gunther,  whose  voice  was  tremulous  with  something 
more  than  grief  at  approaching  death. 
15* 


346  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Eberhard  closed  his  eyes.  When  Gunther  saw  that  he  was 
asleep,  he  rose  from  his  seat. 

He  now  noticed  that  Irma  had  been  sitting-  behind  the  bed- 
screen.  He  beckoned  to  her,  and  she  left  the  room  with  him. 

"  Did  you  hear  everything?  "  asked  Gunther. 

"  I  only  came  a  few  minutes  ago."  Irma  wanted  to  know  the 
whole  truth  in  regard  to  her  father's  position.  Gunther  admitted 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  recovery,  but  that  the  hour  of  death 
was  uncertain.  Irma  covered  her  face  with  both  hands  and  re- 
turned to  the  sick-room,  where  she  again  took  her  seat  behind  the 
bed-screen. 

Bruno  was  with  the  country  physician,  in  the  great  hall.  As 
socn  as  Gunther  entered,  Bruno  'hastily  arose  and,  advancing  to 
meet  him,  hurriedly  said  :  "  Our  friend  here  has  already  quieted  me. 
The  danger,  thank  God  " — his  tongue  faltered  at  the  words  "  thank 
God  "—  "  is  not  imminent.  Pray  quiet  my  sister's  fears." 

Gunther  made  no  reply.  He  saw  that  Bruno  merely  affected 
ignorance  of  the  imminent  danger,  and  Gunther  was  enough  of  a 
courtier  to  refrain  from  forcing  the  truth  upon  unwilling  ears.  He 
returned  to  Irma.  Bruno  followed  him  and  endeavored  to  cheer 
his  sister;  but  she  shook  her  head  incredulously.  He  paid  no 
heed  to  this,  but  said  that  he  wanted  to  gain  strength  and  endur- 
ance for  the  sad  trial  that  awaited  them.  What  he  really  wanted 
was  to  ride  out,  so  that  he  might  be  absent  at  the  terrible  moment. 
Since  his  presence  could  not  make  things  any  better,  why  should 
he  expose  himself  to  such  a  shock  ? 

The  morning  began  to  dawn.  The  sick  man  still  lay  there,  mo- 
tionless. 

"  His  breathing  is  easier,"  faintly  whispered  Irma. 

A  gentle,  reassuring  nod  was  Gunther's  reply. 

CHAPTER   V. 

IT^ITH  a  firm  tread,  Bruno  went  down  the  steps.     He  had  or- 
\  \     dered  the  groom  to  lead  his  horse  some  distance  from  the 
castle  and  there  await  him. 

"  If  there  only  were  no  such  thing  as  dying,"  thought  he  to 
himself.  While  placing  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  something  tugged 
at  his  coat.  Was  it  his  father's  hand  ?  or  was  it  a  spirit-hand  drag- 
ging him  back  ?  He  stumbled  ;  his  coat  had  caught  in  a  buckle. 
He  loosened  it  and  was  just  about  to  lift  his  riding-whip  against  the 
careless  groom,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  such  behavior  was  ill- 
tnru-d.  His  father  was  ill,  seriously  ill,  indeed,  in  spite  of  the 
family  physician's  reassuring  words.  Xo,  it  would  not  do  to 
punish  the  servant  now ;  it  should  not  be  said  that  Bruno  had 
beaten  his  groom  at  such  a  moment.  Fitz,  who  was  putting  the 
buckle  to  rights,  stooped  as  if  he  already  felt  the  whipstock  across 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  347 

his  shoulders,  and  looked  up  amazed,  when  his  master,  in  the 
gentlest  voice,  said  to  him  :  "  Yes,  good  Fitz,  I  see  that  you  've 
not  slept  any  more  than  I  have,  and  you  're  quite  nervous.  Lie 
down  and  rest  for  another  hour.  You  need  not  ride  out  with  me. 
Keep  your  horse  saddled,  however.  I  shall  take  the  straight  road 
through  the  forest  clearing  and,  if  anything  should  happen  here, 
you  or  Anton  can  ride  after  me.  At  the  foot  of  the  Chamois  hill, 
I  shall  turn  back  into  the  bridle-path  and  return  by  way  of  the 
valley.  Do  you  hear?  Don't  forget!  And  now  you  can  go 
sleep  awhile  ;  but  do  n't  unsaddle  your  horse.  Do  n't  forget  what 
I  've  told  you." 

Bruno  rode  off,  and  the  astonished  Fitz  stood  there  looking  after 
him,  for  some  time. 

Bruno  took  the  road  that  led  to  the  woods  and  in  the  direction 
of  a  clearing  which  was  now  used  as  a  pasture.  It  was  easy 
riding  over  the  grassy  path,  and  the  morning  breezes  refreshed 
him. 

The  golden  glow  of  morning  trembled  on  every  leaf,  and 
sparkled  on  every  dewdrop.  The  woods  on  either  side  were 
superb,  and,  with  a  self-complacent  nod,  Bruno  said  to  himself: 
"  How  well  he  understood  forest  matters.  No,  I  shan't  be  so 
cruel.  I  shall  have  the  woods  well  looked  after,  and  shall  not  cut 
down  the  timber." 

He  now  reached  a  level  stretch  of  road.  He  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  set  off  at  a  gallop.  Suddenly  he  halted,  for  the  neigh- 
borhood was  one  with  which  he  was  not  familiar.  There  had  for- 
merly been  a  swamp,  and  now  there  were  broad  fields,  on  which 
lay  many  sheaves  of  ripened  grain. 

Bruno  turned  towards  the  laborers  who  were  binding  the  sheaves. 
The  foreman  told  the  young  master  that  it  was  his  father  who  had 
drained  the  swamp,  and  that  this  was  now  some  of  the  best  land 
on  the  whole  estate.  Offering  Bruno  a  handful  of  the  ripened  ears, 
he  said  :  "  Take  these  to  your  father ;  I  'm  sure  he  thinks  of  us  on 
his  sick-bed." 

Bruno  declined  them,  and  gave  the  foreman  some  drink  money. 
He  rode  off,  leaving  word  that  he  was  going  towards  the  Chamois 
hill,  and  instructing  the  foreman  to  tell  his  groom  as  much,  in  case 
he  should  come  after  him. 

The  farm  laborers  he  had  left  behind  him  were  driving  home 
with  the  first  crop  gathered  from  the  redeemed  land,  and  the 
cracking  of  their  whips  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  upon 
the  silence  of  the  forest-solitude.  He  checked  his  horse's  pace 
to  a  walk  and,  as  no  one  could  see  him  there,  lit  a  cigar. 
When  he  reached  the  high  level  ground,  he  started  off"  at  a  brisk 
trot.  Sheep  were  grazing  here,  and  Bruno  did  not  fail  to  ride  up 
to  the  shepherd  and  tell  him  what  to  say  to  the  groom  in  case  he 
should  follow.  It  was  a  comfort  to  know  that  he  had  made  it  so 


34S  c\Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

easy  to  find  him.  After  he  had  passed,  he  turned  involuntarily. 
/\s  if  to  calm  himself  he  patted  his  horse's  neck  and,  drawing  a 
tight  rein,  drew  himself  up  in  his  saddle.  The  road  again  led 
through  a  clearing  in  the  forest ;  the  valley  below  was  bathed  in 
golden  sunshine.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  :  "  There  are  so 
many  miserable  beings  whose  constant  care  is  how  to  manage  to 
keep  alive.  Why  can't  one  purchase  their  vital  power  and,  adding 
their  years  to  his  own,  live  forever?  The  masses,  stupid  as  they 
r.re.  are  right  when  they  consider  us  as  no  better  than  themselves, 
foi  -«re  must  die  of  the  same  diseases  they  are  subject  to. — Here, 
all  is  life ;  tree  and  beast  and  man.  There,  in  the  castle,  lies  a 
man  whose  end  is  drawing  near,  and  who  may  be  dying  at  this  very 
moment.  Perhaps,  even  now,  the  air  is  wafting  his  last  breath 
towards  me — Where  is  it  ?  Why  does  not  a  shudder  pass  through 
all  that  belongs  to  him  ?  through  ever}'  tree,  and  man,  and  beast  ? 
All  that  lived  with  him  should  die  with  him,  for  it  is  his.  This 
wretched,  miserable  life — " 

"  I  'm  a  poor  woman,  give  me  something,"  said  a  figure,  sud- 
denly emerging  from  the  thicket.  It  was  Zenza. 

Bruno  started  as  if  a  ghost  had  appeared  to  him.  He  put  spurs 
to  his  horse  and  hurried  off.  His  hair  stood  on  end  with  fright,  and 
it  was  long  before  he  regained  his  composure. 

In  spite  of  this  interruption,  and  without  an  effort  on  his  part,  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  subject  that  engaged  them  at  the  mo- 
ment when  Zenza  appeared  upon  the  scene;  but  the  old  woman's 
cry  of:  "Give  me  something,"  was  ever  ringing  in  his  ears.  If 
even-thing  were  to  die  with  its  possessor,  who  would  inherit? 
What  is  more  peculiarly  a  man's  own  than  his  thoughts  ?  and  even 
they  die  with  him — 

"  I  won't  think  any  more,"  said  Bruno  to  himself.  "  Not  now  ; 
to-morrow — the  day  after — some  other  time ;  but  now  I  do  n't 
want  to  think." 

He  raised  his  hat,  as  if  to  permit  his  thoughts  to  escape  ;  then  he 
whipped  and  spurred  his  horse  so  that  it  reared  and  started  off  at 
a  furious  pace.  The  effort  to  maintain  himself  in  his  saddle  drove 
what  he  regarded  as  gloomy  fancies  from  his  mind.  He  sat  firmly, 
pressed  his  knees  against  the  horse's  ribs,  and  felt  the  better  for 
the  exertion,  But,  in  spite  of  all,  his  thoughts  would  suddenly 
wander  off  to  his  father  again.  He  felt  a  sudden  shudder —  This 
must  have  been  the  very  moment — at  that  instant,  his  father  must 
have  breathed  his  last —  Involuntarily,  Bruno  drew  his  hand  back. 
His  horse  halted.  He  again  put  spurs  to  him,  and  galloped  away 
as  if  to  escape  from  his  thoughts.  Suddenly,  a  voice  cried  out : 

" Stop,  Bruno  !"  He  shuddered.  \Vhose  voice  could  it  be? 
Who  would  call  him  by  name  ?  Surprise  and  alarm  had  thrown 
him  into  a  cold  sweat. 

"  Who  calls  me?  "  he  asked  with  pale,  trembling  lips. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  349 

"You  can't  get  here." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Where  are  you  ?  "  cried  Bruno.  A  cold  shud- 
der passed  over  him,  and  his  horse  snorted  and  snuffed  the  air. 
Was  it  true  that  witches  lived  in  rocks  ?  for  the  voice  had  come 
from  the  rock. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  repeated  Bruno  ;  "your  voice  seems — 

"  Do  you  still  know  Black  Esther  ?  Turn  back,  or  you  're  a  dead 
man." 

He  heard  something  whizzing  by  him.  Benumbed  with  terror, 
he  sat  upon  his  horse.  At  last  he  dropped  the  rein,  looked  at  his 
hand,  drew  off  his  glove,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  he  was  still 
living,  that  it  was  yet  day,  that  all  was  not  a  dream,  or  the  product 
of  wild  imagination — 

His  horse  went  on  at  a  gentle  pace.  Suddenly,  it  started  to  one 
side — there  had  been  the  report  of  a  gun.  Who  could  be  hunting 
there  ? 

Bruno  had  already  gotten  beyond  the  limits  of  his  own  domain. 
Who  could  now  be  hunting  in  the  royal  forests,  where  the  chase 
was  not  to  begin  until  next  month  ? 

•  With  a  complacent  air,  Bruno  twirled  his  moustache.  He  again 
felt  confidence  in  himself,  and  in  his  worldly  wisdom.  He  felt  for 
the  revolver  in  his  saddle-bag  and  calmly  examined  it  to  see  if  it 
was  fit  for  use.  The  horse  went  on.  Presently  he  saw  a  gun- 
barrel  resting  on  a  tree  and  directed  against  him,  while  a  voice 
from  behind  the  tree  called  out : 

"  Turn  back,  or  you  're  a  dead  man.     One — two — three — " 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  Bruno  turned  his  horse's  head. 
Behind  him  was  the  loaded  gun,  and,  at  any  moment,  a  bullet 
might  pierce  him.  The  cold  sweat  streamed  down  his  face  ;  his 
eyes  burned  ;  he  did  not  venture  to  raise  his  hand,  lest  the  poacher 
behind  him  should  misinterpret  the  movement  and  shoot  him  in 
the  back.  It  was  not  until  he  had  reached  the  rock  where  Black 
Esther  had  called  to  him  and  had  so  mysteriously  disappeared,  that 
he  ventured  to  breathe  freely.  She  had  not  forgotten  his  love  and 
he  would  henceforward  provide  for  her.  He  again  put  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  hurried  off  without  knowing  whither.  It  was  not  until 
he  reached  tilled  land  and  saw  laborers  at  work,  that  he  alighted 
and  sat  down  on  the  ground. 

The  first  feeling  of  safety  inspired  him  with  a  good  resolve.  He 
would  return  and,  bowing  himself  in  repentance,  ask  his  father's 
forgiveness.  He  would  now  promise  to  care  for  Black  Esther,  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  rupture  between  them.  But  he  felt  so 
weak  that  he  could  not  rise,  and  a  voice  within  him  said :  "  You 
can't  do  it,  you  can't  stand  two  such  shocks  in  one  day,  and,  be 
sides,  there  's  no  hurry ;  the  end  will  surely  not  come  to-day. 
There  will  be  time  enough  to-morrow,  or  later." 

Feeling  as  if  every  bone  in  his  body  were  broken,  he,  at  last, 


350  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

arose,  and  asked  the  people  in  the  field  where  he  was.  He  found 
that  he  was  far  away  from  the  road. 

If  the  groom  were  now  to  ride  after  him  and  not  find  him. 

Bruno  quieted  his  conscience  with  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
not  meant  it  to  be  thus.  Dire  fate,  and  an  almost  inconceivable 
combination  of  terrors,  had  led  him  from  the  right  road. 

Here,  no  one  knew  him.  Suddenly,  he  heard  the  sounds  of 
music  and  saw  several  carriages,  decorated  with  green  boughs, 
driving  along  the  road.  "  What 's  this  ?  a  wedding  ?  "  he  enquired 
of  the  peasant  who  had  already  given  him  some  information  as  tc 
the  road. 

"  I  do  n't  know,  but  I  think  they  must  be  town  folk,  or  else  they 
could  n't  ride  about  in  harvest  time.  May  be  they  're  coming  from 
the  election." 

Bruno  again  mounted  his  horse.  When  he  asked  for  the  near- 
est road  to  Wildenort,  the  peasant  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and 
pointed  to  a  bridle-path  on  which  he  could  not  miss  his  way.  But 
Bruno,  who  had  lost  all  taste  for  the  woods,  preferred  keeping  to 
the  highway.  He  passed  a  long  string  of  wagons  preceded  by  a 
band  of  music  with  a  flag  of  black,  red  and  gold.  He  hurried  by 
them,  for  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  listen  to  music. 

CHAPTER     VI. 

EVEN  before  Gunther's  arrival,  Eberhard  had  been  bled.  Gun- 
ther  had  brought  a  small  medicine-chest  with  him,  and  had 
hastily  compounded  some  remedies  which  had  relieved  and  quieted 
the  patient.  He  was  now  sleeping.  Great  drops  of  perspiration 
stood  on  his  brow.  Irma  still  sat  concealed  behind  the  screen. 
She  could  see  her  father,  but  could  not  be  seen  by  him.  Drawing 
a  deep  breath,  he  awoke  and  looked  about  him.  Irma  hastened 
to  him.  He  gazed  at  her  fixedly,  and  then  motioned  her  to  open 
the  window. 

The  day  was  bright  and  sunny  ;  the  cool,  balmy  breezes  wafted 
the  fragrance  of  the  woods  into  the  room.  The  cracking  of  whips 
was  heard.  Eberhard's  features  acquired  a  pleased  expression,  for 
he  knew  that  they  were  now  bringing  in  the  first  sheaves  from  the 
swamp  which  he  had  redeemed. 

Steps  were  heard  in  the  ante-chamber,  and  Gunther  came  in, 
accompanied  by  the  farm  bailiff. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he,  "it  will  please  your  master." 

With  a  heavy  tread,  the  bailiff  walked  up  to  the  sick  man's  bed- 
side. In  his  right  hand,  he  held  some  of  the  ripened  grain,  while, 
ivith  his  left,  he  beat  his  breast  as  if  to  force  out  the  words : 

"  Master,  I  Ye  brought  you  the  first  ears  from  our  new  field,  and 
hope  your  health  may  be  spared,  so  that  you  may  eat  the  bread 
from  it  for  many  a  year  to  come." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  -     351 

Eberhard  seized  the  ears  and,  with  his  other  hand,  pressed  that 
of  the  servant,  who  now  left  the  room  and  went  down  to  the  barn, 
where  he  sat  down  on  a  sheaf  and  wept. 

"  Shall  I  remain  with  you,  or  would  you  rather  be  alone  with 
your  child  ?"  asked  Gunther. 

Eberhard  dropped  the  ears,  and  they  lay  upon  the  coverlet.  He 
reach  ,-cl  for  Irma's  hand.  Gunther  went  out. 

And  now  Eberhard  dropped  his  daughter's  hand,  pointed  to  her 
heart  and  then  to  the  ears  of  corn. 

She  shook  her  head  and  said  :  "  Father,  I  do  n't  understand  you." 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Eberhard's  features  and  he 
placed  his  finger  on  his  lips,  as  if  grieved  that  he  could  not  speak. 
Who  knows  but  what  he  meant  to  say  :  "  Good  seed  will  grow  from 
the  swamp,  if  we  rightly  cultivate  it ;  and  out  of  your  own  heart, 
too,  my  child  ;  out  of  your  lost,  ruined — " 

"I'll  call  Gunther,"  said  Irma ;  "perhaps  he  will  understand 
what  you  mean." 

Eberhard  shook  his  head,  as  if  in  disapproval.  His  features  be- 
trayed something  like  anger  at  Irma's  inability  to  understand  him. 

He  bit  his  speechless  lips  'and  tried  to  raise  himself.  Irma 
assisted  him,  and  he  now  sat  up,  supported  by  the  pillows. 

His  face  had  changed.  It  had  suddenly  acquired  a  strange  hue 
and  an  altered  expression. 

With  a  shudder,  Irma  realized  what  was  taking  place.  She  fell 
down  by  his  bedside,  and  laid  her  cheek  upon  her  father's  hand. 
He  drew  his  hand  away. 

She  looked  at  him.  With  great  effort  he  raised  his  hand — it  was 
damp  with  the  dews  of  death — and  with  outstretched  finger  he 
wrote  a  word  upon  her  brow.  It  was  a  short  word  ;  but  she  saw, 
she  heard,  she  read  it.  It  was  written  in  the  air,  on  her  fore- 
head, in  her  brain, — aye,  in  her  very  soul.  Uttering  a  piercing  cry, 
she  sank  to  the  floor. 

Gunther  came  in  hurriedly.  Stepping  over  Irma,  he  rushed  to 
the  bedside,  lifted  Eberhard's  fallen  hand,  felt  for  the  beating  of 
his  heart,  started  back — and  then  closed  his  friend's  eyes4 

The  silence  of  death  reigned  in  the  room. 

Suddenly,  music  was  heard  in  front  of  the  house.  They  were 
playing  the  melody  of  a  national  song  and  hundreds  of  voices 
culled  out:  "Long  live  our  representative,  noble  Count  Eber- 
hard !  "  Irma,  who  was  still  lying  on  the  ground,  moved  at  these 
sounds.  Gunther  strode  past  her  and  went  out  into  the  courtyard. 
The  playing  ceased  and  the  voices  were  silenced. 

Horse's  steps  were  heard  approaching,  and  Bruno  entered  the 
courtyard.  He  alighted.  The  sorrowful  mien  of  Gunther  and 
those  about  him,  told  him  what  had  happened.  He  covered  his 
face  and  leaned  on  Gunther,  who  led  him  into  the  house.  When 
Gunther  and  Bruno  entered  the  chamber  of  death,  Irma  had  dis- 
appeared. She  had  shut  herself  up  in  her  room. 


352  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

HE  who  destroys  his  life,  destroys  more  than  his  own  life. 
The  child  that  has  afflicted  a  father  sees  his  upbraiding  hand 
rise  from  the  grave. 

My  father  has  put  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  my  brow  ;  a  mark  that 
can  never  be  effaced. 

Nevermore  dare  I  look  upon  my  face  or  permit  the  eyes  of 
strangers  to  behold  it. 

Can  I  escape  from  myself?  My  thoughts  will  follow  me  every- 
where. 

I  am  an  outcast,  forlorn,  ruined. 

Such  was  the  dreary  monotone  that  rang  through  Irma's  soul, 
again  and  again. 

She  lay  in  the  darkened  chamber  from  which  every  ray  of  light 
was  excluded.  She  was  alone  with  herself  and  darkness.  Her 
thoughts  were  like  strange  voices,  calling  her  now  here,  now  there. 
And  it  often  seemed  to  her  as  if,  with  finger  pointed  at  her,  her 
father's  fiery  hand  shone  through  the  darkness. 

She  could  hear  Bruno's  voice  and  Gunther's.  Bruno  wanted  to 
ask  her  about  many  things,  and  Gunther  wished  to  return  to  the 
city.  Irma  answered  that  she  could  see  no  one,  and  charged 
Gunther  with  a  thousand  greetings  to  all  who  loved  her. 

Gunther  cautioned  the  family  doctor  and  the  maid  to  keep  a 
careful  watch  on  Irma,  and  also  sent  a  messenger  to  Emma  at  the 
convent. 

Irma  remained  in  darkness  and  solitude. 

The  tempter  came  to  her,  and  said  : 

"  Why  grieve  yourself  to  death  ?  You  are  young,  and  the  world, 
with  all  its  beauty  and  splendor,  lies  before  you.  There  is  not  the 
faintest  trace  of  a  mark  upon  your  brow.  The  hand  that  left  it  is 
cold  and  stiff  in  death.  .  Rise  up  and  be  yourself  again  !  The 
whole  world  is  yours  !  Why  pine  away  ?  Why  mortify  yourself? 
Everything  lives  for  itself;  everything  lives  out  its  allotted  time. 
Your  father  completed  his  life  ;  do  you  complete  yours.  What  is 
sin  ?  The  dead  have  no  claims  on  the  living ;  the  living  alone  have 
rights." 

While  distracted  by  grief  and  doubts,  she  suddenly  saw,  arising 
through  the  darkness,  the  vision  described  in  the  New  Testament, 
of  Satan  and  the  angel  contending  for  the  possession  of  the  body 
of  Moses. 

"I'm  not  a  corpse !"  exclaimed  she  suddenly.  "There  are 
neither  angels  nor  devils.  It  is  all  false  !  In  song  and  story,  and 
from  generation  to  generation,  they  Ve  been  handing  down  all 
sorts  of  fables,  just  as  they  do  with  children  whom  they  lull  to 
sleep  in  the  dark. 

41  Day  has  dawned.     I  can  draw  the  curtain  aside,  and  the  whole 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  353 

world  of  light  is  mine.  Are  there  not  thousands  who  have  erred 
as  I  have,  and  who  still  live  happily?  " 

She  felt  as  if  buried  alive  in  the  earth.  Fancy  ever  transported 
her  to  that  one  grave.  She  rushed  to  the  window. 

"  Light !  I  must  have  light !  " 

She  raised  the  curtain.  A  broad  ray  of  light  streamed  into  the 
room.  She  sprang  back,  the  curtain  fell  and  she  again  lay  in 
darkness. 

But  she  soon  heard  a  voice  that  went  to  her  heart.  Colonel 
Bronnen  had  come  from  the  capital  to  pay  the  last  honors  to  Eber- 
hard.  He  begged  Irma — his  powerful  voice  was  thick  with  emo- 
tion— to  permit  him  to  mourn  with  her  for  the  dead. 

All  her  blood  seemed  to  flow  back  to  her  heart.  She  opened 
the  door  and,  through  the  darkness,  held  out  her  hand  to  her 
friend.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  she  heard  the  strong  man 
weep.  Suddenly,  the  thought  flashed  upon  her  that  this  man 
could  save  her,  and  that  she  could  serve  him,  and  look  up  to  him. 
But  how  could  she  dare  ? 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  she,  at  last.  "  May  it  ever  make  you  happy 
to  know  that  you  Ve  been  kind  to  the  departed  and  to  myself—- 
Her voice  faltered  ;  she  could  say  no  more. 

Bronnen  departed,  leaving  her  in  the  dark. 

Irma  was  again  alone. 

The  last  stay  left  her  was  broken.  Had  she  imagined  that 
Bronnen  had  picked  up  fragments  of  a  torn  letter  which  he  had 
found  on  the  road,  and  that  they  were  now  in  his  pocket,  she 
would  have  criecl  out  for  very  shame. 

One  idea  constantly  possessed  her.  What  good  would  it  do  her 
to  see  the  sun  rise  so  many  thousand  times  more?  Every  eye 
would  make  the  writing  stand  out  more  clearly,  and  certain  wprds 
had  become  undying  torments  to  her.  Father — daughter  !  Who 
would  banish  these  words  from  the  language,  so  that  she  might 
nevermore  hear  them,  nevermore  read  them  ? 

Her  ideas  seemed  to  move  in  an  unfathomable  void.  Turn  it  as 
she  might,  the  one  and  only  thought  was  ever  returning  with 
crushing  weight.  It  seemed  exhausting  and  yet  inexhaustible. 

Then  ensued  that  numbness  of  the  mind  which  is  best  described 
as  the  entire  absence  of  thought.  Chaos  reigned,  and  what  lay 
beyond  surpassed  conception.  "  Let  what  will  come,  I  shall  submit, 
like  the  beast  led  out  for  the  sacrifice  and  upon  whose  head  the 
uplifted  axe  of  the  high  priest  is  about  to  descend.  Your  des- 
tiny must  be  accomplished  ;  you  can  do  nothing  but  submit  without 
shrinking." 

Irma  lay  thus  for  hours. 

The  great  clock  in  the  hall  was  ticking  and  seemed  to  be  saying . 
Father — daughter  ;  daughter — father.  For  hours,  she  could  hear 
nothing  but  the  pendulum,  which  seemed  to  utter  those  words 


354  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

again  and  again.  She  was  about  to  give  orders  that  the  clock 
should  be  stopped,  but  forbore.  She  tried  to  force  herself  not  to  hear 
th.se  words,  but  did  not  succeed.  The  pendulum  still  kept  saying : 
Father — daughter;  daughter — father. 

What  had  once  been  subject  to  her  caprice,  now  ruled  her. 
"What  have  you  seen  of  the  world?"  she  asked  herself.  "A 
mere  corner.  You  must  travel  round  the  earth,  and  let  it  be  a 
pilgrimage  in  which  you  may  escape  from  yourself.  You  must 
become  acquainted  with  the  whole  planet  on  which  these  creat- 
ures who  call  themselves  men  creep  about ;  creatures  who  dig 
and  plant,  preach  and  sing,  chisel  and  paint,  simply  to  drown  the 
thought  that  death  awaits  them  all.  All  is  drowned  in  stupor — 

In  imagination,  she  transported  herself  far,  far  away,  with  faithful 
servants  pitching  their  tent  in  the  desert ;  and  if  some  wild  race 
were  to  approach —  WThile  she  lay  there,  half  awake,  half  asleep, 
she  heard  the  sounds  of  the  tom-tom,  and  fancied  herself  borne 
away  on  the  shoulders  of  others,  and  adorned  with  peacocks' 
wings,  while  savage,  dusky  forms  were  dancing  around  her. 

What  had  once  been  a  wild  day-dream  now  possessed  her, 
and  her  brain  whirled  in  fancy's  maddening  dance. 

CHAPTER     VIII. 

IT  was  late  at  night.     All  were  asleep. 
Irma  gently  opened  her  door  and  slipped  out. 

She  went  to  the  chamber  of  death.  A  single  light  had  been 
placed  near  the  head  of  the  corpse,  which  lay  in  an  open  coffin 
and  with  a  fewr  ears  of  corn  in  its  hands.  A  servant  who  was 
watching  by  the  corpse,  looked  at  Irma  with  surprise.  He  bowed 
to  her,  but  did  not  speak  a  word. 

Irma  grasped  her  father's  hand.  If  that  hand  had  rested  on  her 
head  to  bless  her,  instead  of — 

She  knelt  down  and,  with  burning  lips,  kissed  the  cold,  icy  hand. 
A  distracting  thought  flashed  through  her  mind  :  This  is  the  kiss 
of  eternity.  Burning  flame  and  icy  coldness  had  met :  this  is  the 
kiss  of  eternity. 

When  she  awoke  in  her  room,  she  knew  not  whether  she  had 
really  kissed  her  dead  father's  hand  or  whether  it  was  all  a  dream, 
But  she  did  feel  that  her  heart  was  oppressed  by  a  burden  that 
could  never  be  cast  aside. 

The  kiss  of  eternity  !  You  shall  nevermore  kiss  warm,  loving 
lips — you  are  the  brid'e  of  death. 

She  heard  the  bells  tolling  while  they  bore  her  father  to  the 
grave.  She  did  not  leave  her  room.  Not  a  sound  escaped  her 
lips  ;  not  a  tear  fell  from  her  eye  ;  all  her  faculties  were  benumbed 
and  shattered.  She  lay  in  the  dark.  When  she  heard  the  pigeons 
on  the  window-sill  outside,  cooing  and  flying  away,  she  knew  that 
it  was  day. 


ON  THE  HETG  _       355 

Bruno  was  greatly  annoyed  by  his  sister's  eccentric  behavior. 
He  wanted  to  leave,  and  wished  her  either  to  accompany  him  or, 
at  all  events,  say  what  she  proposed  doing.  But,  thus  far,  she  had 
not  replied.  At  length,  equipped  for  the  journey,  he  went  into 
Irma's  ante-room,  where  he  found  her  maid  reading  a  book. 

Bruno  had  just  stretched  out  his  hand  to  pat  her  under  the  chin, 
when  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  was  in  mourning,  and  drew 
his  hand  back. 

He  gave  his  hat  to  the  maid,  so  that  she  might  put  a  mourning 
band  on  it,  and,  while  doing  so,  stroked  her  hand,  as  if  by  accident. 
Then  he  went  to  his  sister's  door  again. 

"  Irma !  "  he  said ;  "  Irma,  do  be  sensible ;  do  give  me  an  an- 
swer." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"Open  the  door." 

"  I  can  hear  you,"  she  replied,  but  did  not  open  the  door. 

"Well  then,  I  must  tell  you  that  no  will  has  been  found.  I  shall 
arrange  everything  with  you  in  a  brotherly  manner.  Won't  you 
come  along  to  my  house  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  I  must  go  without  you  !  good  bye  !"  He  received  no 
answer  and,  while  waiting,  heard  steps  moving  away  from  the 
door.  He  turned  towards  the  waitingmaid  who  had  in  the  mean- 
while fastened  the  crape  upon  his  hat.  Bruno  kissed  her  hand 
and  gave  her  a  handsome  present. 

He  set  out  on  his  journey  at  once. 

He  was  just  as  well  pleased  to  travel  without  Irma's  company. 
There  would  be  no  one  to  disturb  him,  and  he  could  more  easily 
give  way  to  his  own  inclinations.  His  philosophy  enjoined  upon 
him  the  avoidance  of  all  unnecessary  grief ;  it  could  do  no  good, 
and  would  simply  embitter  life. 

He  was  in  a  self-complacent  mood.  He  meant  to  take  the  Wilde- 
nort  estate  to  himself,  on  account  of  the  name.  It  was,  unfortu- 
nately, small  and,  unless  he  obtained  a  position  under  the  govern- 
ment, it  would  not  support  him  in  a  manner  befitting  his  rank.  If 
Irma  should  marry,  which  he  hoped  would  be  very  soon,  he  would 
give  her  the  assessed  value  of  the  hereditary  estate  as  her  dowry. 
Bruno  returned  to  the  capital,  and  the  first  time  that  he  left  his 
house  was  to  visit  the  jockey  club,  which  was  now  in  session.  By 
paying  a  moderate  forfeit,  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  withdraw  his 
liorses  from  the  races  which  were  announced  to  .take  place  within 
a  few  days.  He  was  in  mourning  and  they  would,  of  course,  take 
that  into  consideration.  On  the  way,  he  met  Gunther  and  turned 
back.  The  Doctor  was  going  to  the  palace. 

Never  had  this  mail,  who,  at  court,  was  looked  upon  as  a  stoic, 
shown  such  agitation  as  when  he  brought  the  news  of  old  Count 
Wildenort's  death. 


356  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  told  the  queen  that  Eberhard's  last  moments  had  renewed  the 
spirit  of  his  better  days,  and  yet  he  could  not  refrain  from  adding 
th.it  his  departed  friend  had  not  attained  the  high  point  to  gain 
which  he  had  so  honestly  labored.  For,  at  the  last  moment,  he 
h.id  felt  the  need  of  support  from  without,  and  was  obliged  to  im- 
press his  mind  anew  with  truths  he  had  long  since  made  his  own. 
The  queen  was  astonished  at  the  Doctor,  who  could  judge  so 
sternly,  even  when  most  deeply  afflicted. 

"  How  does  our  Irma  bear  it  ?  "  cried  she. 

"Sadly  and  silently,"  replied  Gunther. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  king  to  the  queen,  "that  we  ought  to  write 
to  our  friend,  and  send  a  messenger  to  her."  The  queen  approved 
of  his  suggestion,  and  the  king  said  to  the  captain  of  the  palace 
guard  : 

"  The  queen  wishes  to  have  a  courier  sent  to  Countess  Irma  at 
once.  Pray  attend  to  the  matter.  Send  Baum." 

The  queen  started  with  fear.  Why  had  the  king  said  that  she 
desired  to  send  a  messenger?  The  suggestion  had  been  his  own 
and  she  had  merely  assented  to  it.  She  quickly  silenced  her 
doubts,  however,  and  reproached  herself  that  the  suspicion  she 
had  once  harbored  had  not  yet  entirely  vanished.  She  went  to 
her  room  and  wrote  to  Irma.  The  king  wrote,  too. 

Baum  assumed  a  modest  and  submissive  mien,  while  receiving 
orders  to  start  at  once  as  a  courier  to  the  Countess  of  Wildenort. 
He  was  to  remain  with  the  Countess,  to  be  in  constant  attendance 
upon  her,  and,  if  she  desired  to  travel,  he  was  to  accompany  her 
until  she  should  return  to  court. 

When  Baum  set  out  with  the  letters,  his  face  wore  a  triumphant 
expression.  He  was  now  on  the  point  of  gaining  the  great  prize. 
He  had  been  intrusted  with  a  delicate  commission,  and  he  knew 
what  he  was  about.  He  felt  that  they  appreciated  him,  and  that 
he  understood  them.  He  looked  back  towards  the  palace.  The 
submissive  air  had  vanished.  Stroking  his  chest  with  his  right 
hand,  and  holding  the  left  up  to  his  lips,  he  said  to  himself:  "I 
shall  return  as  a  made  man  ;  I  shall  be  lord  chamberlain  at  least." 

Baum  arrived  at  the  manor-house.  The  maid  told  him  that 
Irma  would  receive  no  one. 

"  If  she  only  had  a  good  cry  ;  her  silent  grief  will  kill  her." 

He  knocked  at  Irma's  door.  It  was  long  before  an  answer 
came.  At  last  she  asked  what  was  the  matter,  and  when  she  rec- 
ognized Baum's  voice,  she  was  obliged  to  support  herself  from 
falling,  by  holding  on  to  the  latch  of  the  door.  "Had  the  king 
come,  too  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 

Baum  said  that  he  had  come  as  a  courier  to  deliver  a  letter  from 
their  majesties.  Irma  opened  the  door  just  far  enough  to  enable 
her  to  put  out  her  hand.  She  took  the  large  letter  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  There  was  nothing  that  she  cared  to  learn  from  the  world, 
nor  could  it  offer  her  any  consolation.  No  one  could. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  357 

At  last,  towards  evening,  she  drew  back  the  curtains  and  broke 
the  seal  of  the  large  envelope.     There  were  two  letters  in  it ;  one 
in  the  queen's  handwriting,  the  other  in  the  king's.     She  opened 
the  queen's  letter  first,  and  read : 
"My  Dear,  Good  Irma  : " 

(It  was  the  first  time  that  the  queen  had  written  so  affection- 
ately. Irma  wiped  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  and  went  on 
reading.) 

"  You  have  experienced  life's  greatest  affliction.  Would  that  I 
were  with  you,  to  press  your  throbbing  heart  to  mine,  and  to  kiss 
away  your  tears.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  console  you,  but  can  only 
say  that  I  sympathize  with  you  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  sympa- 
thize with  griefs  one  has  not  yet  known.  You  are  strong  and 
noble,  and  I  cannot  help  appealing  to  you  "  (Irma's  hand  trembled) 
"  to  think  of  yourself  and  to  bear  your  grief  purely  and  nobly.  You 
are  orphaned,  but  the  world  must  not  be  a  desert  void  to  you. 
There  are  still  hearts  that  beat  with  friendship  for  you.  I  am  glad — 
that  is  to  say — I  thank  fate  that  I  am  able  to  be  of  some  help  to 
you  in  your  sorrow.  I  need  not  assure  you  of  my  friendship  for 
you,  and  yet,  at  such  moments,  it  does  one  good  to  tell  one's  self 
so.  I  do  not  care  to  spend  a  single  hour  in  pleasure  while  you  are 
in  affliction.  All  feelings  are  shared  by  us."  (Irma  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  Recovering  herself,  she  went  on  reading.)  "  Let 
me  know  soon  what  I  can  do  for  you.  Come  to  me,  or  remain  in 
solitude,  just  as  your  feelings  dictate.  If  I  could  only  enable  you 
to  enjoy  the  company  of  yourself  as  we  enjoy  it.  You  do  n't  know 
how  much  good  you  've  done  me.  You  have  extended  the  domain 
of  our  perceptions  and  have  thus  enriched  our  lives.  What  nobler 
achievement  can  there  be  !  Remain  firm  and  remember  that  you 
may  always  depend  upon  the  friendship  of 

"  Your  ever  loving 

"MATHILDE." 

Irma  laid  the  letter  on  the  table  and  involuntarily  pushed  it  far 
away  from  that  of  the  king,  which  was  still  unopened.  Years 
should  elapse — aye,  oceans  should  lie  between  the  reading  of  the 
two  letters ;  and  yet  how  often  had  she  listened  to  them  both  in 
the  same  breath,  and  looked  at  them  with  the  same  glance. 

With  a  violent  movement,  as  if  in  anger,  she  opened  the  king's 
letter  and  read : 

"  I  am  deeply  pained  to  know  that  you,  too,  my  charming  friend, 
must  learn  that  we  are  mortal.  It  grieves  me  to  think  that  your 
lovely  eyes  must  weep.  If  that  which  is  noblest  be  capable  of 
still  further  purification — and  what  mortal  being  is  not  ? — this 
affliction  must  needs  add  to  your  noble-mindedness.  I  entreat 
you,  do  not  soar  too  high,  lest  you  leave  us  too  far  below  you. 
Carry  us  with  you,  to  the  lofty  regions  in  which  you  dwell." 

Irma's  features  assumed  a  hard  and  bitter  expression.  She 
went  on  reading : 


358  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  If  you  mean  to  torment  your  beautiful  eyes  with  tears,  and 
your  noble  heart  with  sighs,  for  more  than  seven  days,  and  desire 
to  remain  alone,  pray  send  me  word.  Should  you,  however,  wish 
to  protract  your  mourning,  and  to  recover  yourself  and  another 
self,  by  travel,  decide  upon  what  direction  you  mean  to  take.  Let 
it  not  be  too  far — not  too  far  into  the  land  of  sorrow,  a  land  to 
which  you  are  a  stranger.  Be  happy  again  and  subdue  your  grief, 
cheerfully  and  speedily. 

"  Affectionately  yours, 

"K." 

In  the  letter,  there  lay  a  small  piece  of  paper  with  the  inscription : 
"Burn  this  as  soon  as  read." 

"  I  cannot  live  without  you.  If  I  lose  you,  I  lose  myself.  Your 
presence  is  my  life.  I  cannot  live,  except  in  the  light  of  your  eyes. 
I  want  no  clouds ;  I  long  for  the  sunlight.  Remember  the  world 
of  thought  that  dwells  beneath  your  plumed  hat.  Let  that  world 
have  its  sway.  You  must  not  be  sad  ;  you  dare  not,  for  my  sake. 
You  must  be  mistress  of  your  grief,  just  as  you  are  mistress  over 
me.  Be  firm,  put  all  grief  away  from  you,  and  return  to  your 

""KURT. 

"  The  kiss  of  eternity  !  I  alone  can  kiss  away  the  sadness  that 
clouds  your  brow.  I  can  and  I  will." 

Irma  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  then  gave  way  to  convulsive 
laughter. 

"  Can  any  lips  kiss  this  brow  ?  How  would  they  relish  the 
death-sweat  which  has  already  eaten  into  the  flesh  ?  How  would 
that  terrible  word  taste  to  the  lips  ?  Kiss  it  away  !  Kiss  it  away  ! 
I  burn  !  I  freeze  !  " 

The  maid  heard  the  last  few  words,  and  endeavored  to  go  to 
Irma's  assistance,  but  the  door  was  locked. 

After  some  time,  Irma  raised  her  head  and  was  surprised  to  find 
herself  on  the  floor.  She  rose  and  ordered  a  light  and  writing 
materials.  She  burned  the  king's  two  letters,  and  then  sat  there 
for  a  while,  with  her  weary  head  resting  upon  both  her  hands.  Al 
last  she  took  the  pen  and  wrote : 
"  Queen  ! 

"  I  expiate  my  crime,  in  death.     Forgive  and  forget. 

"IRMA." 

On  the  envelope  she  wrote  the  words  "  By  the  hand  of  Gunther," 
"  For  the  queen  herself." 

Then  she  took  another  sheet  and  wrote  : 
"  My  Friend: 

"These  are  the  last  words  I  shall  ever  address  to  you.  We  arc 
trending  the  wrong  path,  a  path  full  of  peril.  I  expiate  my  crime. 
You  do  not  belong  to  yourself  alone  ;  you  belong  to  her  and  to  your 
country.  Death  is  my  expiation.  Life  must  be  yours.  Be  at  one 
with  the  law  that  binds  you  to  her  and  to  the  state.  You  have  de- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  359 

nied  both,  and  I  have  aided  you  to  do  so.  Our  life,  our  love,  has 
dealt  terribly  with  you.  You  could  no  longer  be  true  to  yourself. 
But  now  you  must  again  become  so  ;  and  that,  completely.  These 
are  my  dying  words,  and  I  shall  gladly  die,  if  you  will  but  hearken 
to  me  and  to  your  better  self.  God  knows  we  did  not  mean  to  sin  ; 
but  we  sinned,  for  all.  My  judgment  is  written  on  my  brow ;  in- 
scribe yours  in  your  heart  and  live  anew.  All  is  still  yours,  I 
receive  the  kiss  of  eternity  from  death.  Listen  to  this  voice  and 
forget  it  not,  but  forget  her  who  calls  to  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
remembered." 

She  sealed  the  letters  and  hurriedly  hid  them  in  the  portfolio,  for 
she  was  interrupted.  Emma,  or  rather  Sister  Euphrosyne,  was 
announced. 

CHAPTER     IX. 

r^UNTHER  had  sent  a  messenger  to  inform  Emma  of  Count 
\J  Eberhard's  death  and  Irma's  despair.  The  prioress  suggested 
that  Emma  should  hasten  to  her  young  friend  to  whom  they  owed 
so  great  a  debt ;  and,  as  nuns  were  -not  allowed  to  travel  alone, 
she  was  accompanied  by  a  sister  who  was  an  experienced  nun. 

When  the  maid  announced  them,  Irma  started  from  her  seat. 
This  is  deliverance  !  In  the  convent,  shut  out  from  the  world,  a 
living  death — there  shall  you  wait  until  they  bear  you  to  the  grave. 

Suddenly  the  old  boatman's  words  flashed  upon  her:  "A  life  in 
which  nothing  happens." 

Her  lips  swelled  with  proud  defiance.  I  shall  not  wait  for  the 
end  ;  I  '11  force  it.  It  was  long  before  she  answered  the  maid  : 

"  My  best  thanks,  but  I  do  n't  care  to  see  or  hear  any  one." 

After  uttering  these  words,  Irma  felt  as  if  inspired  with  new 
strength.  That,  too,  was  over. 

All  was  silence  and  darkness  again,  and  the  clock  kept  on  say- 
ing :  Father — daughter ;  daughter — father. 

From  the  valley  below,  she  heard  the  sounds  of  the  vesper  bell. 

"  It  must  be,"  said  Irma  to  herself.  She  drew  back  the  curtains 
and,  looking  down  into  the  valley,  could  see  the  nuns,  clad  in  their 
long  black  gowns,  walking  across  the  meadows.  Her  thoughts 
went  out  after  them,  as  she  said  :  "  Farewell,  Emma  !  "  Then  she 
called  her  maid  and  told  her  to  give  orders  that  a  horse  should  be 
saddled  for  her,  as  she  wished  to  ride  out.  She  did  not  turn  her 
face  to  the  maid.  No  one  should  ever  look  on  that  brow.  The 
maid  helped  her  on  with  her  riding-habit  and  riding-hat,  the  latter 
ornamented  with  part  of  an  eagle's  wing.  Irma  started  when  her 
hand  touched  the  wing.  The  king  had  shot  the  bird,  and  had  given 
her  the  plumes  when It  seemed  like  a  parting,  ghostly  touch. 

She  ordered  a  double  veil  to  be  put  on  her  hat,  and  it  was  not 
until  she  was  in  perfect  disguise,  that  she  set  off.  She  did  not 


360  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

look  up ;  she  took  leave  of  no  one ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
ground. 

Irma's  saddle-horse  stood  in  the  courtyard.  At  her  approach,  it 
pa\ved  the  ground  and  snuffed  the  air.  She  did  not  stop  to  en- 
quire who  had  brought  her  horse  from  the  city.  She  patt-nl  its 
neck  and  called  it  by  its  name :  "  Pluto."  In  thought,  she  was 
already  so  far  removed  from  the  world  that  she  regarded  the  beast 
as  a  marvel,  or  as  something  never  before  seen.  She  mounted. 

The  large  dog,  a  favorite  of  her  father's,  was  there  also,  and 
barked  when  he  saw  her.  She  gave  orders  to  have  the  dog  taken 
back  to  the  house. 

She  rode  away  at  an  easy  pace.  She  did  not  look  behind  her, 
nor  to  the  right  or  left.  The  sun  \vas  already  behind  the  tops  of 
the  trees.  Its  broken  rays  shone  through  the  branches,  like  so 
many  threads  of  light,  and  between  the  boughs  glowed  the  sky, 
forming  a  golden  background. 

Irma  halted  and  beckoned  to  Baum,  who  had  been  following  her, 
to  come  nearer.  He  rode  up. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  with  you  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  florins." 

"  I  must  have  a  hundred  florins  ;  ride  back  and  get  them  for  me." 

Baum  hesitated.  He  wanted  to  say  that  he  was  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  Countess,  but  he  could  not  muster  courage  enough  to 
do  so. 

"Why  do  you  hesitate?  Don't  you  understand  me?"  said 
Irma,  harshly.  "Ride  back,  immediately." 

Baum  was  scarcely  out  of  sight,  when  Irma  whipped  her  horse, 
leaped  over  the  ditch  at  the  side  of  the  road,  hurried  across  the 
mountain  meadow  and  into  the  wroods.  She  rode  at  full  gallop, 
over  the  very  road  Bruno  had  taken  a  few  days  before.  The  horse 
was  "spirited  and  fresh,  and  proud  of  its  beautiful  rider.  They 
knew  each  other  and  it  galloped  on  right  merrily,  as  if  in  the 
chase.  And  there  really  is  a  chase ;  for  hark !  there  's  a  shot. 
But  Pluto  stands  fire,  and  is  not  so  easily  frightened.  Away  he 
dashed,  more  wildly  than  before.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
shone  through  the  forest  shades,  lighting  up  the  trees  and  mosses 
with  their  roseate  glow.  And  still  she  rode  on,  ever  urging  her 
horse  to  greater  speed. 

She  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  mountain  ridge  ;  below,  lay  the 
broad  lake,  glowing  with  purple. 

"  There  !  "  cried  Irma.     "  There  thou  art,  cold  death  !  " 

Pluto  stopped,  thinking  that  his  mistress  had  spoken  to  him. 
"You  're  right,"  said  she,  patting  his  neck  ;  "it 's  far  enough." 

She  alighted  and  turned  the  horse's  head.  He  looked  at  her 
once  more,  with  his  large,  faithful  eyes,  for  she  had  thrown  back 
her  veil. 

"  Go  home.     You  re  to  live  ;  go  home  !  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  361 

The  horse  did  not  move.  She  raised  her  whip  and  struck  it.  It 
started  off,  with  mane  and  tail  fluttering  in  the  evening  breeze,  as  it 
hurried  away  along  the  mountain  crest. 

Irma  paused  and  looked  after  it.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  a  projecting  rock  and  gazed  at  the  vast  prospect  and  the 
setting  sun. 

"  O  light !  O  lovely  sky  !  This  is  the  last  time  I  gaze  upon  you, 
before  I  sink  into  the  night  of  death — " 

For  a  moment,  she  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  view  that  opened 
before  her.  She  no  longer  knew  whence  she  had  come,  or  whither 
she  would  go.  Her  eyes  rested  on  the  vast  range  of  towering 
peaks,  summit  piled  on  summit,  and,  in  the  distance,  a  peak  over- 
topping them  all.  The  wooded  heights  seemed  enveloped  in  a 
violet  haze.  The  trembling  rays  of  the  setting  sun  gilded  the  bare 
and  rugged  cliffs.  High  upon  the  glaciers  rested  the  rosy  glow  of 
sunset,  ever  assuming  a  brighter  hue  as  it  grew  darker  in  the  valley 
below.  One  mighty,  snow-clad  peak  seemed  as  if  on  fire ;  but  a 
cloud  passed  over  it  and,  as  if  lifting  a  veil,  carried  the  mountain's 
rosy  glow  with  it.  The  cloud  gradually  disappeared  in  a  blaze  of 
glory,  and  the  snowy  peaks,  standing  out  against  the  background 
of  dull  sky,  looked  cold  and  bleak,  as  if  in  death. 

The  mighty  spirit  of  death  was  passing  o'er  the  heights. 

Oh  !  that  one  might  thus  vanish  into  thin  air  ! 

A  chilling  breeze  swept  over  the  mountain.  Irma  shuddered. 
She  passed  her  hand  over  her  face,  and  felt  that  she,  too,  was  grow- 
ing pale.  She  rose  to  her  feet  and  ascended  the  mountain  for 
some  distance,  so  that  she  might  once  more  see  the  fiery  ball. 
She  was  too  late  and  said  aloud : 

"  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  see  the  sun  a  thousand,  or  twice  a  thou- 
sand times,  as  long  as  the  day  must  come  when  it  sets  for  us,  once 
and  for  all  ?  And  it  has  forever  set  to  him  who  lies  under  the  sod 
and  on  whose  hand  decay — " 

She  felt  giddy  and  sank  upon  the  mossy  ground. 

When  she  got  up  again,  it  was  night. 

She  arose  and,  holding  up  her  dress,  walked  down  into  the  dark 
and  thickly  wooded  ravine  below. 

CHAPTER   X. 

IRMA  advanced  with  a  firm  step.     The  footpath  she  had  struck, 
wound  its  way  among  large  and  lofty  trees  and   soon  opened 
into  a  broad  road  that  had  been  cut  through  the  forest.     Ever 
and  anon  heat-lightning  would  flash  in  the  distance,  breaking  up 
the  gloom  incl  revealing  another  firmament  that  lay  beyond. 

Irma  scarcely  looked  up.      She  thought  of  nothing  but  how  to 
find  her  \vay.     There  was  perfect  silence,  broken,  now  and  then, 
by  a  sorrowful  sound,  like  the  sobbing  of  a  human  being.      It 
16 


362  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

must  be  from  some  hollow  tree,  thought  she.  The  groaning 
always  seemed  to  advance  before  her.  Wherever  she  went, 
she  heard  it.  She  looked  for  the  heart-sick  tree,  but  could 
not  find  it.  With  every  step,  she  advanced  further  into  the  forest 
and  higher  up  the  mountain.  Then  she  ran  down  the  mountain, 
and  now  all  was  silent.  The  path  was  no  longer  visible,  but,  from 
afar,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  moonlit  lake,  the  object  of  her 
search.  She  went  on,  through  the  pathless  forest,  treading  down 
the  soft  moss.  Sometimes  she  heard  the  twittering  of  birds  in 
the  tree-tops ;  a  martin  or  a  weasel  was  destroying  the  young 
in  their  nests.  The  world  is  full  of  murder,  thought  she  ;  its 
creatures  are  ever  preying  on  each  other.  Though  man  destroys 
and  kills  his  fellow  men,  he  does  not  eat  them.  That  alone  dis- 
tinguishes man  from  the  beasts.  And  there  is  one  thing  more — 
man  alone  can  kill  himself.  Irma  grew  dizzy  at  the  thought.  She 
supported  herself  against  a  tree,  for  a  moment,  and  then  walked 
on.  Her  resolve  must  be  carried  out ;  there  must  be  no  weakness, 
no  wavering.  She  went  still  further  into  the  dense  forest.  Her 
cheeks  glowed,  the  perspiration  dripped  from  her  forehead ;  but, 
inwardly,  she  felt  as  if  freezing. 

Something  rustled  through  the  thicket.  It  was  a  stag  which  she 
had  frightened  from  its  cover.  The  stag  was  afraid  of  her,  and 
she  was  afraid  of  the  stag.  She  fancied  that  she  could  feel  its 
antlers  piercing  her.  She  hurried  down  the  mountain  side.  For 
awhile,  she  could  still  hear  the  crackling  of  the  underbrush,  and  at 
last  all  was  silent  again.  The  wind  whistled  through  the  tree-tops, 
and  there  was  a  sound  of  running  water,  sometimes  near  and 
sometimes  afar,  and  then  the  roaring  of  a  forest  stream  dashing 
down  from  the  rocks.  She  beheld  the  moonlit  foam,  and  no  longer 
knew  where  she  was  or  whither  she  was  going — towards  the  lake, 
or  away  from  it.  If  she  were  to  lose  her  way  in  the  forest — if  she 
were  to  be  found  there  and  taken  back  to  the  world  and  misery  ! 
Mustering  all  her  strength,  she  walked  on.  The  cool  night  air 
blew  against  her  face,  but  her  cheeks  glowed  as  if  with  fire.  She 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow  ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  hot  spring  was 
flowing  from  the  spot  which  had  been  touched.  She  looked  up  to 
the  stars  and  recognized  the  familiar  constellations.  She  knew 
their  position,  but  those  great  guides  through  infinite  space  do  not 
help  the  lonely  mortal  who  has  lost  her  way  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest.  Irma  thought  of  the  nights  when,  under  Gunther's  guid- 
ance, her  glance  had  roamed  o'er  the  vast,  starry  expanse.  But 
now  all  was  annihilated,  all  greatness  had  fallen.  Even  her  view 
of  the  stars  was  conf  ned  and  obstructed.  She  tried  to  remember 
whether  she  had  destroyed  the  letters  or  left  them  behind  her. 
She  thought  she  could  remember  having  burnt  that  of  the  king ; 
but  how  as  to  the  letter  to  the  queen  ?  Torn  by  conflicting  doubts, 
she  was,  at  last,  completely  bewildered.  Perhaps  both  letters 
would  be  found. — Be  it  so. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  363 

Ami  then  Walpurga's  song  passed  through  her  mind. 

If  the  good  peasant  woman  who  lives  by  the  lake  knew  that  her 
friend  was  thus  groping  her  way  through  the  woods,  all  alone,  in 
darkest  night,  and  with  such  dread  thoughts  for  her  companions- 
she  would  hasten  to  her  aid,  would  draw  her  to  her  heart  and  would 
not  let  her  go.  Who  knows  but  that,  although  far  away,  she  is 
thinking  of  me  now,  dreaming  of  me  and,  perhaps,  singing  her 
song — sending  it,  like  some  invisible  messenger,  on  the  wings  of 
night.  How  the  poor  creature  will  grieve  when  she  hears  of  my 
death.  Perhaps  she  will  be  the  only  one  who  will  sincerely  mourn 
for  me. 

Memories  of  many  kinds  floated  through  her  mind.  Years 
hence,  some  boatman,  like  the  one  at  the  island  convent,  will  tell 
the  story  of  the  drowned  maid  of  honor.  What  effect  will  the 
news  of  my  death  have  upon  others  ?  None  of  them  can  help  me, 
nor  can  I  help  them.  Day  after  to-morrow  they'll  be  playing, 
dancing  and  singing  as  usual.  No  one  can  keep  another  in  re- 
membrance. He  who  is  absent  has  no  claim  on  our  thoughts. 
Life  is  as  pitiless  as  death.  She  went  further  into  the  thicket, 
passing  wild  ravines  on  the  way.  The  stones  loosened  by  her 
tread  tumbled  over  the  precipice,  and  the  dull,  hollow  thud  with 
which  they  struck  the  earth  below,  told  her  how  far  they  had  fallen. 
The  rocks  on  either  side  drew  closer  together,  the  mountain  tor- 
rent rushed  down  over  them  and,  all  at  once,  she  reached  the  edge 
of  a  precipice  ;  further,  she  could  not  go.  I  will  take  the  fatal  leap 
and  dash  myself  to  pieces.  But  to  lie  there,  perhaps  for  days, 
bruised  and  half  dead.  To  die  a  lingering  death  !  No  ! 

She  sought  a  path.  A  branch  struck  her  in  the  face  just  where 
her  father's  icy  finger  had  touched  her. 

"No;  this  brow  shall  nevermore  see  the  light  of  day,"  she 
cried,  holding  fast  with  her  hands,  while  trying  to  find  a  way 
along  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Suddenly,  she  heard  the  loud  voice 
of  a  woman  singing.  Irma  drew  a  long  breath,  for  it  was  a  human 
voice — a  woman's,  perhaps  that  of-  a  young  and  lovely  girl,  giving 
her  lover  a  signal  in  the  night.  The  sounds  were  repeated  again 
and  again,  and  grew  more  and  more  piercing,  and,  trembling 
with,  fear,  Irma  sat  on  the  rock.  She  answered  with  a  scream. 
-She  was  frightened  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  but  she  cried 
ouc  again  and  again,  for  now  there  was  an  answer.  The  other  voice 
seemed  to  approach  ;  dogs  rushed  forth  and  were  already  surround- 
ing Irma  and  barking,  as  a  signal  that  they  had  found  the  Diev. 
The  voice  came  nearer  and  nearer.  * 

'  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  asked. 
Here,"  answered  Irma.* 
Where?" 
Here." 

'  Up  there  ?  " 


364  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

'Yes." 

'  How  did  you  get  up  there  ?  " 
'I  don't  know." 

'  Keep  quiet ;  do  n't  move  and  I  '11  come." 
•Yes." 

Irma  waited  a  long  while,  and  at  last  some  one  appeared  right 
below  where  she  was  sitting. 

"So  there  you  are,"  said  the  figure.  She  threw  a  rope  to  Irma, 
telling  her  to  bind  it  round  her  body  and  then  fasten  the  other  end 
to  a  rock  or  tree,  and  slide  down  gently. 

Irma  did  as  she  was  bidden.  During  that  one  short  moment, 
while  she  hovered  between  heaven  and  earth,  a  thousand  inde- 
scribable thoughts  passed  through  her  mind.  She  reached  the 
ground  in  safety.  The  woman  at  once  seized  her  by  the  hand  and 
led  her  away.  She  followed,  as  if  without  a  will  of  her  own.  In 
scrambling  through  the  bushes  and  over  the  rocks,  she  tore  herself 
until  the  blood  flowed.  At  last  they  reached  a  narrow  rocky  path. 
Below  them  the  brook  rushed  by,  but  the  powerful  woman  held 
Irma's  hand  fast  in  hers,  as  if  with  an  iron  grip. 

"  A  chamois  hunter  would  n't  dare  go  where  you  Ye  been.     Now 
we  're  up  here,  and  there's  our  hut,"  said  she,  at  last.     "It's 
a  wonder  you  did  n't  stumble  over  the  rock  with  your  long  dress." 
'  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Irma. 

'Tell  me  first,  who  you  are,  and  how  you  got  here." 
'  I  can't  tell  you  that," 
'  Xo  matter.     They  call  me  Black  Esther." 
'Who  are  you   bringing  there?"   called   out   a  grim-looking 
woman,  who  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  hut.     Behind  her,  glowed 
the  fire  on  the  hearth. 

"  I  do  n't  know  ;  it 's  a  woman." 

Irma  went  towards  the  hut  with  Black  Esther.  The  old  woman 
crossed  herself  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Let  all  good  spirits  praise  the  Lord  !  it 's  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake — " 

"I  *m  not  a  spirit,"  said  Irma.  "  I  'm  a  weary  mortal.  Let 
me  rest  here  for  awhile,  and  then  let  your  daughter  go  with  me 
and  show  me  the  way  to  the  lake.  All  I  ask  for  now  is  a  drop 
of  water." 

"No,  that  'ud  be  the  death  of  you.  You  mustn't  drink  water 
now.  I  '11  cook  some  warm  soup  for  you,  and  bring  it  to  you  right 
off." 

She  led  Irma  into  the  room,  and  when  she  saw  her  hand  and  the 
diamond  rings  sparkling  on  it,  she  grinned  with  delight. 

"  Oh  what  a  beautiful  ring  !     That 's  from  your  sweetheart." 
••  Take  it  and  keep  it,"  said  Irma,  holding  o'ut  her  hand. 
With  great  dexterity,  the  old  woman  removed  the  ring  from 
Irr.ia's  finger. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  365 

"  Goou  neavens ! "  cried  the  old  woman,  suddenly,  "  I  Ve  seen 
you  before — yes,  yes,  it  was  you.  Did  n't  you  once  wear  a  little 
golden  heart  and  send  it  to  a  child  ?  Did  n't  you  once,  at  the  palace, 
order  them  to  get  something  to  eat  for  an  old  woman,  and  have  her 
son  set  free,  and  did  n't  you  give  her  money  besides  ?  Good 
heavens  !  you  're  the — " 

"  Do  n't  mention  my  name  !  Only  let  me  rest  a  moment ;  ask 
me  nothing,  and  say  nothing  more." 

"  As  you  do  n't  want  me  to,  certainly  not.  I  '11  hurry  and  get 
the  soup  ready  for  you." 

She  went  out,  leaving  Irma  alone. 

Irma  lay  on  the  bed,  which  was  nothing  more  than  a  sack  of 
leaves  that  crackled  strangely  whenever  she  turned  her  head.  The 
leaves  seemed  to  say :  "  Ah  !  when  we  were  green,  we  had  a  better 
time  of  it —  The  moon  shone  in  through  the  window ;  every- 
thing seemed  dancing  before  her  eyes ;  she  felt  as  if  she  were  on 
the  open  sea.  But  she  soon  fell  asleep. — When  she  awoke,  she 
heard  a  man's  voice. 

CHAPTER     XI. 

OUT  on  the  porch,  which  also  served  as  a  kitchen,  were  Thomas 
and  his  mother.  He  had  removed  his  false  beard,  was  clean- 
ing his  black  face,  and  now  said : 

"  Mother,  do  you  know  what  I  'm  sorry  for?  " 

"What  for?" 

"Why,  that  I  did  n't  shoot  the  young  Count,  the  other  day.  I 
won't  have  as  good  a  chance  at  him  again.  I  could  have  shot  him 
through  the  back  of  the  neck  and  that  would  have  been  the  last 
of  him.  I  'd  have  given  the  daylight  a  chance  to  shine  through 
him." 

"  You  're  a  nice  fellow  to  talk  repentance." 

"Yes,  and  I  'd  have  done  a  good  deed  if  I  'd  shot  the  fellow. 
Just  think,  mother,  that  's  the  kind  of  people  the  grand  folks  are 
who  own  the  forest  and  all  the  game  in  it.  Just  think  of  it,  mother ! 
I  'm  a  good  fellow,  after  all." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Only  think,  mother  !  Do  you  know  why  the  Count  was  in  the 
forest  ?  He  wanted  to  be  out  of  the  way  while  his  father  was 
dying ;  and  so  he  rode  off  and  let  the  old  man  end  his  days  alone. 
1  promise  you,  if  you  were  going  to  die,  and  I  were  about,  I  'd 
stay  with  you  to  the  last.  I  'd  deserve  to  go  to  heaven,  if  I  'd  put 
that  fellow  out  of  the  way.  If  I  'd  known  all  about  it  at  the  time. 
I  'd  have  done  it,  too.  Indeed  I  did  want  to,  just  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing.  But  it 's  great  fun  to  think  how  the  fellow  must  have 
shook,  to  be  riding  in  front  of  me  while  I  had  a  ball  ready  for  him 
and  could  have  shot  him  at  any  minute.  Oh,  you  Wildenort !  " 


366  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

At  the  mention  of  her  family  name,  Irma  fell  over  as  if  shot  and, 
with  bated  breath,  listened  while  Thomas  continued : 

"Since  then,  I  've  been  as  if  bewitched.  I  have  n't  chanced 
across  a  bit  of  game  and  I  feel  like  a  fool.  Something  happened 
to  me  about  twilight — the  devil  take  it,  one  can't  help  believing  in 
spirits.  Mother,  I  saw  a  beautiful  horse,  and  no  one  was  on  it. 
If  it  had  only  been  a  real  horse,  one  that  would  fetch  money! 
But  I,  like  a  fool,  was  frightened  when  it  galloped  past  me,  with 
its  flying  mane  and  clattering  hoofs.  But,  before  I  'd  made  up  my 
mind  that  it  was  a  real  horse  and  that  ghost  stories  were  stupid 
stuff — heigho,  it  was  gone." 

"  Nay,  Thomas,  take  care  !  There  's  something  in  those  stories 
after  all.  Come,  stand  here,  hold  your  hand  over  the  fire  and 
swear  that  you  '11  keep  quiet,  and  I  '11  tell  you  something." 

"  What  do  you  happen  to  know?  " 

"  More  than  your  thick  head  can  hold.  I  tell  you  there  are 
spirits,  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  is  lying  on  the  bed  in  there." 

"  Mother,  you  've  gone  crazy." 

"Take  care  !  she  's  ordered  me  to  cook  some  soup  for  her." 

"And  so  the  water-fairies  eat  soup.  I  'm  not  afraid  of  any 
creature  that  eats  cooked  victuals.  I  'd  like  to  take  a  look  at  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake." 

The  old  woman  tried  to  keep  him  back,  but  he  forced  his  way 
into  the  room.  When  he  beheld  Irma,  he  stood  still,  as  if  rooted 
to  the  spot.  Suddenly,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  She  's  a  woman  like  yourself,  only  she  's  much  handsomer.  If 
she  were  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  she  'd  have  swan's  feet,  as  far  as 
I  know.  Mother,  who  is  it?" 

"  I  do  n't  know." 

"Then  I '11  ask  her." 

The  old  woman  tried  to  restrain  him,  but  Irma  had  already 
risen  to  her  feet.  She  looked  about  her  with  a  vacant  stare  and 
and  opened  her  lips,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  It  's  you  !  "  cried  Thomas,  suddenly.     "That 's  splendid." 

He  wanted  to  seize  her,  but  Zenza  held  him  back. 

"  It 's  you  !  "  he  cried  again.  "  You  've  lost  your  way  and  here 
you  are  ;  that 's  splendid." 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  who  does  n't  know  you  ?  you  're  the  king's  sweetheart 
rnd  now  you  're — " 

Irma's  loud  shriek  of  despair  drowned  the  last  words  of  the 
brutal  fellow. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Thomas.  "Out  with  you,  mother;  and 
jrou,  too,  Esther.  I  do  n't  need  either  of  you." 

"  Let  her  go  !     You  shan't  touch  her,"  cried  the  mother. 

"  Shan't  I  ?  and  who  's  to  hinder  me  ?  " 

The  mother  struggled  with  him,  but  he  hurled  her  aside.     Un- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  36) 

able  to  think  of  any  other  expedient,  she  seized  the  vessel  of  boil- 
ing broth  and  swore  that  she  would  dash  it  in  his  face.  He  warded 
it  off  and  staggered  back,  bellowing  like  a  bull. 

Esther  rushed  up  to  Irma  and  hurriedly  whispered  : 

"  Come,  come  !  I  '11  save  you,  for  your  father's  sake.  Come  ! 
Away  !  " 

She  dragged  Irma  away  with  her,  and  with  breathless  haste  they 
ran  down  the  hill.  Irma  was  out  of  breath  and  wanted  to  rest. 
Esther,  however,  dragged  her  a  little  further,  until  they  reached  a 
spring,  where  they  seated  themselves.  Dipping  up  some  water  in 
her  hands,  she  bathed  Irma's  brow  and  her  own. 

For  some  time,  neither  of  them  spoke  a  word.  At  last,  Irma 
asked : 

"  Do.you  know  the  way  to  the  lake  ?  " 

"  Very  well.     That 's  my  path,  too — the  only  one  left  me." 

"  How  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  do  just  what  you  mean  to  do,  and  I  suppose  I  '11 
have  to." 

"  What  do  I  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"To  drown  yourself." 

Irma  started  with  surprise  when  she  found  her  purpose  known. 

"  I  do  n't  know  why,"  continued  Esther,  "  but  I  can  easily  guess. 
My  brother  spoke  bitter  words  to  you  ;  but,  I  beg  of  you,  do  n't  do 
it.  Just  think  of  it !  You  're  so  beautiful,  so  young,  so  rich.  You 
may  live  for  many  years,  and  things  may  be  much  better  for  you  in 
the  world.  Do  n't  do  it. — Hush  !  "  said  she,  interrupting  herself, 
"don't  you  hear  something?  We'll  stop  talking,  so  as  to  hear 
every  sound.  He  's  following  us,  and  won't  leave  us.  Get  up  ! 
we  must  be  off." 

They  got  up  and  walked  on  further  through  the  gloomy  forest. 

A  vision  of  hell  passed  through  Irma's  mind.  Through  all  eter- 
nity, the  noble  and  the  lowly  would  be  linked  to  each  other  and 
suffer  a  like  fate ;  for  sin,  like  virtue,  knows  no  such  distinctions. 

They  were  passing  a  wild,  roaring  stream,  when  Esther  asked  : 

" So  you  're  his  sister?  " 

"Whose  sister?" 

"  My  Bruno's.  How  goes  it  with  him  ?  I  saw  him  the  other 
day,  when  I  was  looking  for  ants'  eggs,  but  he  did  n't  see  me.  Is 
it  true  that  he  's  married  happily  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  why  do  you  call  him  your  Bruno  ?  " 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  You  're  the  first  one  who  's  heard  his  name 
pass  my  lips  since  that  day.  Has  he  never  mentioned  it  to  you 
himself?  " 

"No." 

"  He  can't  have  forgotten  it.  Come  on !  Thomas  might  find 
os  here.  Take  my  hand  and  go  backwards ;  then  the  dogs  will 
lose  the  scent." 


368  0.Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Esther  took  Irma  by  the  hand  and  led  her  away.  After  they 
had  seated  themselves  under  a  projecting  rock,  Black  Esther  thus 
told  her  story : 

"  My  mother  knows  nothing  of  it,  nor  does  my  brother.  No  one 
knows  the  right  story ;  but  I  can  tell  you.  This  is  n't  our  real 
home,  but  we  're  often  here  in  the  summer,  looking  for  gentian, 
and  herbs,  and  ants'  eggs.  I  was  fifteen,  years  old,  a  merry  devil 
of  a  girl,  and  could  have  run  a  race  with  any  stag,  when  your 
brother  found  me  in  the  woods.  He  was  handsome — very  hand- 
some. There  never  was  another  man  in  all  the  world  so  beautiful 
as  he  was.  He  was  so  clever  and  so  good,  and  we  loved  each 
other  so  much  ;  and  I  cried  every  time  I  had  to  go  home  to  my 
mother  again.  I  would  have  liked  to  stay  out  in  the  wroods,  just  as 
the  deer  did  ;  and  it  almost  pleased  me  when  I  got  home  and 
mother  gave  me  a  beating,  for  then  I  could  cry  without  having  to 
give  a  reason  for  it.  I  longed  for  him  every  moment,  and  never 
wanted  to  leave  him.  He  once  told  me  who  he  was,  and  that  his 
father  was  a  very  stern  man,  and  that,  if  it  were  n't  for  that,  he  'd 
take  me  home  to  his  castle,  and  make  a  countess  of  me.  And 
what  do  you  think  I  did  ? — I  've  thought  a  thousand  times  since 
of  how  foolish  I  was,  but  I  'm  sure  I  meant  no  harm.  As  Bruno 
had  complained  so  bitterly,  I  thought  this  bad  father  might  be 
brought  around  ;  so  I  went  to  the  castle,  and  went  right  up  to 
him  and  told  him  that  he  ought  n't  to  be  so  cruel  and  hard-hearted, 
and  that  he  ought  to  allow  Bruno  to  marry  me,  and  I  'd  surely  be 
a  good  daughter-in-law,  and  that  there  had  never,  in  all  the  world, 
been  truer  love  than  ours.  And  your  father  gave  me  a  glance — 
I  '11  never  forget  his  eyes.  I  can  see  them  before  me  now,  so 
large  and  bright.  And  a  little  while  ago,  when  Thomas  started 
towards  you,  you  had  just  such  eyes,  and  that  made  me  take  pity 
on  you  and  help  you  away." 

"Go  on,"  said  Irma,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  replied  Esther,  collecting  her  thoughts.  "  And  then 
your  father  came  towards  me.  I  stooped,  for  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  strike  me ;  but  he  put  his  hand  on  my  head  and  said : 
'  You're  a  good  child,  even  if  you  've  done  wrong,  and  it  shan't  be 
my  fault  if  you  do  n't  keep  good.'  Then  he  called  a  servant  and 
ordered  him  to  go  for  Bruno.  When  Bruno  came  in  and  saw  me, 
he  was  frightened  ;  but  I  said  :  '  Do  n't  be  afraid  ;  you  Ve  father  's 
a  kind-hearted  man,  and  he  '11  let  me  have  you  for  a  husband.' 
Bruno  didn't  stir  from  the  spot;  his  face  was  as  white  as  the 
tloth  on  the  table  he  was  leaning  against.  And  then  your  father 
said  :  '  Very  well,  so  I  '11  come  to  you.  You  've  not  acted  honora- 
bly, but  you  shall  still  have  a  chance  to  do  so.  I  permit  you — nay, 
1  command  you — to  take  this  child  of  the  forest  for  your  wife — ' 
Bruno  laughed— it  was  a  devilish  laugh,  and  I  '11  never  forget  it — • 
and  your  father  said:  'Speak,  Bruno.'  Then  he  said:  'Father, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  369 

do  n't  be  ridiculous,'  and  your  father's  face  changed  as  suddenly  as 
if  he  had  grown  thirty  years  older  in  that  one  minute.  He  could 
hardly  stand,  and  sat  down  on  a  chair.  'What  do  you  say?'  he 
asked.  '  Repeat  it  once  more  !  Speak  ! '  And  Bruno  repeated 
his  words,  twisting  his  moustache  while  he  spoke.  Your  fathei 
tried  to  persuade  him,  and  told  him  that  he  'd  teach  me,  that  I 
should  learn  to  read,  and  write,  and  do  everything  else,  as  well 
as  any  countess,  and  that  Bruno  had  better  not  take  a  load  upon 
his  conscience  which  he  'd  never  get  rid  of  as  long  as  he  lived. 
And  Bruno  answered  :  '  If  you  do  n't  send  that  girl  away,  I  '11 
leave  the  room.  Go,  Esther.  Leave  the  room,  and  do  n't  come 
again  till  I  send  for  you.'  He  said  something  to  your  father, 
in  a  language  I  did  n't  understand.  Your  father  grew  pale,  came 
up  to  me,  gave  me  his  hand,  and  said  :  *  Go,  Esther.'  He  did  n't 
say  another  word,  but  that  he  said  kindly.  And  so  I  went  away. 
That  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  Bruno.  I  heard,  afterward,  that 
there  had  been  terrible  goings  on  between  your  father  and  him,  but 
I  kept  out  of  sight,  after  that.  I  did  n't  want  to  be  the  cause  of  ill 
feeling  between  father  and  son  ;  I  saw  that  it  would  n't  do.  Our 
child  meant  kindly  towards  us,  for  it  was  born  dead.  That  was 
far  better  than  to  find  only  misery  in  the  world,  and  die  at  last. 
Do  n't  you  think  so,  too  ?  " 

Irma  did  not  answer,  but  she  felt  for  Esther's  hand. 

Esther  continued  : 

"Mother  and  Thomas  don't  know  that  I  ever  knew  your 
brother.  But  Thomas  is  a  terrible  fellow,  and  he  hates  youi 
brother  just  as  if  he  had  a  notion  of  it;  but  I  don't  say  a  word. 
I  'in  lost ;  but  what  does  it  matter  ?  There  's  no  need  of  his 
being  ruined  too.  Oh  !  how  I  loved  him.  I  can't  forget  it,  even 
now." 

Esther  who  had,  thus  far,  told  her  story  in  a  calm  and  quiet 
tone,  suddenly  cried  out : 

"  He  's  got  a  beautiful,  fine,  rich,  noble  wife  !  Yes,  that 's  all  we 
are  here  for — so  that  nothing  may  happen  to  you  in  your  silken 
beds  out  yonder.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  And  when  they  get  a  child  in 
wedlock,  they  get  some  poor  woman  to  suckle  it.  Walpurga  's 
wdl  off;  her  milk's  turned  to  gold.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  stop 
rhinking." 

She  tore  her  hair  and  gritted  her  teeth.  "  It 's  a  wonder  that 
the  wild  and  burning  thoughts  that  pass  through  my  brain  have  n't 
burned  away  the  stupid  black  hair  long  ago.  Oh,  my  head  's  burn- 
ing, and  I  get  blows  on  it  every  day.  But  it 's  hard — just  feel — it 's 
as  hard  as  steel." 

Irma  stood  there,  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Esther.     "  Hush.      I  hear  the  dogs.     I  told  you 
he  'd  hunt  for  us.     Fly  !  fly  !  there,  to  the  right !  that 's  the  path  ; 
but,  I  beg  of  you,  for  the  sake  of  everything  in  the  world,  do  n'i 
1 6* 


370  0AT  THE  HEIGHTS. 

do  it — do  n't  do  it !  You  have  n't  gone  far  enough  for  that.  But, 
be  off.  Down  there  you  '11  come  to  a  small,  wooden  bridge.  Cros° 
it  and  hurry  on.  I  '11  stay  here  ;  the  dogs  will  come  to  me  and  I  '11 
detain  them.  You  're  saved.  Away  !  Away  !  " 

She  urged  Irma  away,  and  remained  behind. 

Irma  hurried  on,  alone.  She  often  pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow. 
Grateful  remembrance  of  her  father  had  saved  her  from  unspeak- 
able horror.  When  his  hand  rested  on  Estrfer's  head,  it  had  been 
in  token  of  forgiveness.  But  the  characters  he  had  branded  on 
Irma's  brow,  told  her  that  he  had  forever  put  her  away  from  him. 
"  The  brand  upon  my  brow  can  only  be  cooled  by  the  waters  of 
the  deep  lake,"  she  kept  saying  to  herself,  while  she  hurried  across 
the  wooden  bridge,  and  then  over  the  rising  ground  until  she 
again  entered  the  dark  forest. 

Black  Esther  stood  her  ground  quietly,  and  waited  for  the  dogs  to 
approach.  She  called  them,  and  they  ran  towards  her.  She  heard 
Thomas  whistling,  and  the  dogs  answering.  He  was  still  far  off, 
but  he  was  on  the  right  track.  She  counted  ever}'  pulsation  ;  for 
with  even-  heart-beat,  Irma  was  one  step  further  from  where  her 
pursuer  must  halt.  She  was  willing  to  suffer  all.  What  did  it 
matter  ? 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know  you  're  fond  of  me,"  said  she  to  the  great 
wolf-dog,  that  fawned  upon  her.  "  Yes,  you  're  the  only  creature 
in  this  world  that  loves  me.  I  wish  I  'd  been  a  dog,  too.  Why 
was  n't  I  born  a  dog?  If  it  were  only  true,  as  mother  says,  that 
there  once  were  times  when  people  were  changed  into  other 
beings." 

Thomas's  whistle  and  cry  were  again  heard.  The  dogs  an- 
swered. He  drew  nearer  and  soon  stood  beside  her. 

"So  it's  you,  is  it?  I  thought  as  much.  Where's  the  other 
one  ?  " 

"  Where  you  '11  never  find  her." 

A  cry  of  pain  resounded  from  the  woods. 

"  Kill  me  at  once  !  "  cried  Esther.  The  dogs  howled,  but  knew 
not  which  of  the  two  they  would  help. 

Thomas  went  off,  leaving  Esther  lying  where  she  had  fallen. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

OX  the  soft  moss  under  the  trees  near  the  border  of  the  forest, 
a  beautiful  female,  clad  in  blue,  lay  stretched  in  sleep.     The 
trembling  sunbeams  played   about  her  face.      She  awoke,  and, 
jesting  her  head  upon  her  hand,  gazed  about  her  with  the  air  of 
one  to  whom  all  is  lost. 

The  air  was  laden  with  the  odor  of  pines,  and  fresh,  cooling 
breezes  were  wafted  from  the  lake.  The  bells  of  the  browsing 
cattle  were  heard  from  the  neighboring  hills.  The  dew  glistened  ; 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  371 

every  object  was  radiant  with  light ;  but  to  her,  all  was  night.  It 
was  long  before  she  realized  that  she  was  awake,  or  where  she 
was.  At  last,  she  became  conscious  of  herself;  but  still  she  moved 
not.  Sad  and  gloomy  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind.  Why 
awake  ?  Oh,  pitiless  nature  !  why  cannot  the  soul's  anguish  de- 
stroy thee  ?  Why  is  it  necessary  to  use  another  force — fire,  water, 
steel,  or  poison — to  oppose  thee?  Why  is  it  that  the  soul  can 
ruin  the  body,  and  yet  cannot  destroy  it  ?  Sun  !  what  dost  thou 
want  of  me  ?  I  want  thee  no  longer  !  My  father's  writing  burns 
my  brow.  Conscience  hammers  at  me,  as  if  with  a  thousand 
fists,  and  yet  does  not  destroy  me  !---Why  is  this  ?  Why  ? 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  turned  away  from  the  sun.  Something 
whispered  to  her:  "There  's  time  .yet.  It  may  all  prove  to  be  a 
hellish  adventure,  a  waking  dream.  Turn  back  !  You  can,  you 
may.  You  have  fully  expiated  all." 

As  if  moved  by  some  invisible  power,  she  again  turned  towards 
the  sun.  Below  her  lay,  the  glittering  lake,  and  its  waves  seemed 
to  say :  "In  these  depths,  all  thought,  all  trouble,  all  fear,  all 
doubt  is  at  an  end." 

She  arose,  and  when  she  saw  the  impression  her  figure  had 
made  in  the  moss,  she  looked  at  it  for  a  long  while.  Thus, 
thought  she,  does  the  stag  look  at  his  nightly  couch  when  the  fatal 
shot  has  struck  him.  Are  we  better  than  the  hunted  beasts  of  the 
forest  ?  All  is  vanity  !  What  use  is  there  in  torturing  ourselves  ? 
One  bold  plunge  will  end  all.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  walked 
away,  alone  in  the  world  with  the  one  idea  that  possessed  her.  No 
voice  dissuaded  her  ;  she  was  mistress  over  life  and  death. 

The  blackberry  bushes  caught  her  dress  and  held  her  fast,'  and, 
while  extricating  herself,  the  thorns  scratched  her  hands  and  feet. 
She  felt  a  sense  of  gnawing  hunger,  and  wept  like  a  forsaken 
child. 

Tears  came  to  her  relief. 

Just  then,  she  saw  more  berries,  which  she  plucked  and  ate  with 
eager  appetite.  Startled  by  her,  a  bird  and  its  mate  flew  up  from 
among  the  blackberry  bushes.  There  was  the  empty  nest.  Every 
creature  has  its  home.  Irma  stood  there  for  some  time,  quite  for- 
getting herself.  She  turned  her  head, — and,  behold  !  beside  the 
blackberries,  there  were  poison  berries,  belladonna — he  who  hun- 
gers for  death  can  feed  on  these.  Irma  did  not  pluck  the  deadly 
fruit.  She  did  not  care  to  die  a  death  of  slow  torture,  perhaps  to 
swoon  away,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  men  again.  No  ;  it  must  be 
in  the  bottomless  lake. 

Irma  now  hurried  off,  as  if  she  had  been  loitering  by  the  way. 
The  dew  moistened  her  wounded  feet ;  she  shivered  with  cold. 

Suddenly,  the  bright  sounds  of  music  and  the  flourish  of  trump- 
ets were  borne  upon  the  breeze.  Irma  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
brow — it  is  n't  music,  it  is  only  the  play  of  my  frenzied  imagination. 


372  a\r  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  world's  pleasures  are  tempting  me  and  calling  me  back  with 
violin,  clarionet  and  trumpet.  "Come,  soothe  yourself  with  our 
sounds ;  be  merry  and  enjoy  the  days  allotted  to  you."  But  listen  ! 
The  sound  is  heard  again,  accompanied  by  the  discharge  of  can- 
non, whose  reports  are  echoed  back  from  the  mountains,  again 
and  again.  Perhaps  they  are  celebrating  a  wedding  in  some 
quiet  village  on  yonder  shore.  A  youth  and  a  maiden  who  have 
loved  each  other  truly,  have  to-day  become  united,  and  music  and 
cannon  call  out  to  the  mountains :  "  Rejoice  with  us ;  love's 
happiness  is  as  eternal  as  ye  are  — "  Irma  walked  on,  lost  in 
reverie  and  looking  down  on  the  ground.  Her  thoughts  were 
with  the  happy  ones.  In  imagination,  she  saw  the  glad  looks  of 
parents,  of  comrades,  of  friends  and  heard  the  priest's  benediction  ; 
while  she  walked  on  through  the  dewy  grass  and  briars.  Her 
hand  was  firmly  clenched,  as  if  she  felt  obliged  thus  to  hold  fast  to 
the  resolve  that  urged  her  onward.  She  walked  along  by  the 
lake.  The  shore  was  flat,  a  mere  reedy  swamp.  There  could  be 
no  sudden  ending  there  ;  only  a  slow,  miserable  death.  She  walked 
round  and  round,  ran  to  and  fro  with  hasty  step  and  bated  breath. 
At  last  she  saw  a  rock  extending  to  the  water's  edge.  It  was  steep, 
almost .  perpendicular.  She  climbed  up  to  the  top,  raised  her 
hands,  leaned  over  the  edge.  But  hark  !  Who  called  to  her  from 
the  water  ?  She  heard  a  shriek  of  anguish,  a  cry  for  help,  a  splash. 
In  her  excitement,  she  dropped  her  hat.  It  rolled  over  the  edge 
of  the  rock  and  into  the  water.  She  saw  a  human  figure  wrestling 
with  the  waves.  It  rose  to  the  surface — it  was  Black  Esther  !  It 
rose  once  more  and  then  sank  out  of  sight.  .  .  .  Uttering  a 
wild  shriek,  Irma  sank  upon  the  rock.  She  had  seen  the  deed  she 
purposed  enacted  before  her  very  eyes.  Her  limbs  seemed  palsied 
and  she  lay  there  as  if  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake.  She  was  con- 
scious, and  yet  could  not  raise  herself.  A  voice  called  within  her, 
but  no  sound  passed  her  lips. 

And  while  she  lay  there,  she  heard  voices  singing : 

Ah,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee ; 
And  swiftly  speed  the  hours  by, 
When  thou  art  near  to  me. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.     What  could  it  be  ? 

As  if  impelled  by  some  unseen  power,  she  hurried  down  from 
the  rock.  She  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  blood  was 
streaming  from  her  face.  Had  she  been  weeping  tears  of  blood  ? 
A  large  boat  was  approaching.  It  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 

It  is  Walpurga's  voice.  It  is  she  who  calls.  She  comes — she 
recognizes  her  friend.  Irma  flees.  Walpurga  leaps  ashore — pur- 
sues her — Irma  tries  to  escape — Walpurga  at  last  overtakes  her 
and  clasps  her  in  her  arms,  while  Irma  falls  fainting  upon  her 
breast. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  373 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  blood  was  streaming  from  a  wound  in  Irma's  forehead. 
Walpurga  knelt  down  beside  her  and,  divesting  herself  of  her 
neckcloth,  bound  the  bleeding  brow.  She  then  gathered  some 
wet  grass  and  shook  the  dew  in  Irma's  face.  In  despair,  she  cried  ; 

"  l3earest  Countess  !  dear,  good,  beloved  Countess  !  do  wake  up  ! 
For  God's  sake,  what's  the  matter?  Oh!  for  God's  sake,  wake 
up!  Irma  !  Irma  !  "  Irma  opened  her  eyes. 

Hansei's  voice  was  heard  calling :  "  Walpurga  !  Walpurga,  where 
are  you  ?  " 

"Is  that  your  husband  ?  Don't  let  him  come  here.  He  must 
not  see  me,"  said  Irma. 

"  Stay  there  !  "  cried  Walpurga.  "  Send  mother  here  and  tell 
her  to  bring  some  of  the  wine  along  that  I  brought  home  with  me. 
It 's  in  the  blue  chest,  with  the  child's  things.  Be  quick  about  it !  " 

In  a  few  hurried  words,  Irma  told  her  that  her  father  was  dead, 
and  that  she  had  sought  to  drown  herself  in  the  lake.  She  put  her 
hand  to  her  brow,  and  drew  it  back  in  alarm. 

"  Woe  's  me  !     How  is  this  ?  " 

"  You  've  been  bleeding.  You  must  have  fallen  and  struck  your 
head  against  a  stone.  Just  look  !  "  said  she,  forcing  herself  to 
assume  a  cheerful  tone;  "this  is  the  green  kerchief  you  sent 
my  child."  Irma  tore  off  the  bandage  and  silently  looked  at  the 
blood-stained  handkerchief. 

"  That  quenches  the  fire  ;  let  it  run,"  said  she  to  herself.  Then, 
with  a  sudden  access  of  emotion,  she  said  : 

"  Oh  Walpurga  !  I  can't  die  !  I  can't  kill  myself — and  yet  I 
can't  live.  I  've — I  Ve  been  wicked — " 

She  hid  her  face  against  Walpurga's  heart,  which  beat  loud  and 
violently. 

"  Help  me  !  tell  me  what  to  do  !  Tell  me  quickly,  before  your 
mother  comes  !  " 

"  I  do  n't  know — I  do  n't  know  at  all — but  mother  will  know. 
She  knows  how  to  help  every  one.  See  there,  it 's  stopped  bleed- 
ing, already.  Only  keep  calm." 

The  mother  joined  them.  Irma  looked  at  her,  as  if  she  were  an 
angel  come  to  save  her.  With  a  voice  free  from  the  slightest  trace 
of  doubt  or  hesitation,  the  mother  said  : 

"  Walpurga,  this  is  your  Countess  !  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"Then  you  're  a  thousand  times  welcome,"  said  the  old  woman, 
14 1  offer  you  both  my  hands.  Sad  things  must  have  happened  to 
you.  You  must  have  fallen.  Or  has  some  one  struck  you  in  the 
forehead  ?  " 

Irma  made  no  reply.  She  sat  between  the  two  women  who 
supported  her,  and  her  gaze  was  as  fixed  as  though  she  were  life- 
less. 


374  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Mother,  help  her  ;  say  something  to  her,"  whispered  Walpurgi.. 

"  No  ;  let  her  quietly  recover  herself.  Every  wound  must  bleed 
itself  out." 

Irma  grasped  her  hands,  kissed  them  and  cried  : 

"  Mother  !  you  've  saved  me.  Mother !  I  '11  remain  with  you  ; 
take  me  with  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  I  will.  You  '11  find  it  ever  so  healthy  up  in  my  home. 
The  air  and  the  trees  there  are  better  than  anywhere  else  in  this 
world.  There  you  '11  become  well  again,  and  all  this  will  fall  away 
from  you.  Does  your  father  know  that  you  've  run  away,  out  into 
the  wide  world  ?  and  does  he  know  why?  " 

•'  He  did  know.  He  's  dead.  Walpurga,  tell  her  how  it  is  with 
me." 

"  There  's  time  enough  for  that ;  for,  God  willing,  we  '11  be  to- 
gether a  long  while.  You  can  tell  me  all  when  you  're  calm  and 
composed.  But  now,  drink  something." 

After  considerable  effort,  the  two  women  succeeded  in  drawing 
the  silver-foiled  cork.  Walpurga  finished  the  operation  by  taking 
the  cork  between  her  teeth  and  pulling  it  out.  Irma  drank  some 
of  the  wine. 

"Drink,"  said  Walpurga.  "It  must  be  wTholesome,  for  Doctor 
Gunther  sent  it  to  mother.  But  she  won't  drink  it.  She  says 
she  '11  wait  till  she  grows  old  and  needs  the  strength  that  wine 
gives." 

A  melancholy  smile  passed  over  Irma's  face  at  the  thought  that 
the  aged  woman  before  her  meant  to  wait  until  she  grew  old. 

Irma  was  obliged  to  take  a  few  more  mouthfuls  of  the  wine. 
When  she  complained  of  the  pain  in  her  foot,  the  mother  skilfully 
extracted  a  thorn.  Irma  felt  as  if  a  gentle  angel  were  attending 
her,  and  offered  to  kiss  the  old  woman's  hands  once  more.  "  My 
hands  were  never  kissed  before  you  kissed  'em,"  said  the  old 
w  oman,  deprecatingly ;  "  but  I  know  how  you  mean  it.  I  never 
touched  a  countess  before  in  all  my  life  ;  but  they  're  human  beings, 
just  like  the  rest  of  us." 

Irma  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  She  told  her  rescuers  that  she  would 
go  with  them,  but  only  on  condition  that  no  one  except  themselves 
was  to  know  who  she  was.  She  wished  to  live  concealed  and 
unknown,  and,  if  she  were  discovered,  she  would  take  her  life. 

"  Do  n't  do  that  again,"  said  the  old  woman,  writh  a  stern  voice. 
"  Do  n't  say  that  again.  It  won't  do  to  trifle  with  such  things. 
That 's  no  threat.  But  here  you  have  my  hand  and  my  word  of 
honor  that  not  a  word  shall  pass  my  lips." 

"  Nor  mine  either  !  "  exclaimed  Walpurga,  laying  her  hand,  with 
that  of  her  mother,  in  Irma's. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  asked  the  mother.  "Why  did  n't  you  go 
i.o  a  convent  ?  One  can  do  that  nowadays." 

"I  mean  to  expiate  in  freedom,"  said  she. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  375 

"  I  understand  you.     You  're  right." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken.  The  mother  held  her  hand  upon 
Irma's  forehead,  on  which  she  now  bound  a  white  handkerchief. 

"  It  '11  be  well  in  _a  week,  and  there  won't  be  a  scar  left,"  she 
said,  consolingly. 

"  The  white  cloth  shall  remain  there  as  long  as  I  live,"  replied 
Irma.  She  now  asked  them  to  provide  her  with  other  clothes,  be- 
fore she  showed  herself  in  Hansel's  presence. 

Walpurga  hurried  back  to  the  inn  near  the  landing-place.  Here 
she  found  Hansei  in  an  angry  mood,  and  scolding  terribly.  Every 
interruption  annoyed  him.  He  had  enough  to  look  after,  as  it 
was.  There  was  more  work  put  upon  him  than  upon  the  horses 
in  the  wagon.  He  was  in  that  excited  state,  often  produced  by 
travel  and  change  of  abode,  in  which  one's  better  self  seems  to 
disappear,  and  when  a  restless  and  homeless  feeling  renders  its 
possessor  excessively  irritable.  Besides  that,  the  foal,  beautiful  as 
it  was,  had  put  him  to  considerable  trouble.  It  had  run  away  and 
had  almost  got  under  the  wheels  of  one  of  the  wagons. 

Hansei  was  very  angry.  Walpurga  found  it  difficult  to  pacify 
him,  and  at  last  she  burst  into  tears  and  said  : 

"  Sooner  than  move  to  our  new  home  in  anger  and  hatred,  I  'd 
rather  we  'd  all  gone  to  the  bottom  in  the  boat." 

"Yes,  yes;  I'm  quiet;  just  try  to  be  so,  too,"  said  Hansei, 
recovering  himself  and  looking  towards  the  lake  as  if  Black 
Esther's  head  were  again  rising  on  the  waves.  He  continued : 
"  But  we  must  hurry  on,  or  else  it  '11  be  pitch  dark  before  we  get 
there.  We  Ve  a  good  distance  before  us,  and  the  horses  have  a 
heavy  load*  What  are  you  about  there  ?  Whom  have  you  got 
over  there  among  the  willows  ?  " 

"  You  '11  know  all  about  it  in  a  little  while.  Just  take  my  word 
for  it,  that  mother  and  I  are  doing  something  that  '11  be  a  satisfac- 
tion to  us  as  long  as  we  live.  I  am  glad  that  God  has  given  me  a 
chance  to  do  something  at  this  moment,  when  I  would  have  liked 
to  ask  Him  what  I  could  do  to  prove  my  gratitude.  She  's  a  dear, 
kind  creature,  and  you  '11  be  satisfied." 

Walpurga  spoke  so  earnestly  and  impressively,  that  Hansei  re- 
plied : 

"  I  '11  drive  on  with  the  household  goods,  and,  if  it  suits  you,  you 
can  follow  in  the  covered  wagon.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can. 
Uncle  's  here,  and  he  '11  drive." 

Walpurga  nodded  to  Hansei,  who  started  up  the  mountain  with 
the  loaded  wagon.  Then  she  went  to  a  chest  and  took  out  a  full 
suit.  She  carried  the  clothes  into  the  thicket  where  she  found 
Irma  sitting  beside  the  mother,  Irma's  head  resting  against  the 
breast  of  the  old  woman,  who  had  wound  her  arms  around  her. 

"  Irmgard  will  be  quite  happy  with  us ;  we  know  each  other, 
already,"  said  the  mother. 


376  ON  THt:  HEIGHTS. 

No  one  on  earth  knows  what  Irma  confessed  to  old  Beate,  down 
among  the  willows  by  the  lake.  The  old  woman  breathed  thiice 
on  her  brow,  as  if  her  warm  breath  could  dispel  the  charm. 

"  And  now  put  on  your  clothes,"  said  Beate.  In  the  thicket, 
Irma  exchanged  her  dress  for  the  peasant's  garb. 

When  she  left  the  thicket  and  returned  to  the  path,  she  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  She  was  now  entering  upon  a  new 
world — a  new  life. 

She  looked  at  the  beings  and  the  objects  in  the  parlor  of  the  inn 
as  if  it  were  all  a  dream.  She  had  come  back  to  the  world  again 
from  the  depths  of  the  lake.  Here,  life  was  going  on  as  usual ; 
there  was  eating  and  drinking,  laughing  and  talking,  singing, 
driving,  riding —  All  this  she  had  already  left  far  behind  her.  She 
was  as  one  risen  from  the  dead.  Silent,  and  with  folded  hands,  she 
sat  upon  the  bench,  caring  nothing  for  the  world  about  her,  longing 
for  only  perfect  solitude.  And  yet  her  ear  was  so  acute  that  she 
overheard  the  hostess  whisper 'to  Walpurga :  "A  kinswoman,  I 
suppose,"  and,  significantly  putting  her  finger  to  her  forehead, 
"  she  do  n't  seem  to  be  in  her  right  wits." 

"  May  be  you  're  right,"  replied  Walpurga.  A  smile,  as  of  pain, 
passed  over  Irma's  beautiful  lips :  "There's  one  protecting  dis- 
guise— and  it  is  madness." 

She  felt  as  if  a  net  of  thorns  had  descended  upon  her  head. 
Insanity  may,  indeed,  sometimes  serve  as  an  invisible  cap,  con- 
cealing, or  rather  disguising,  the  sorrow-stricken  wearer. 

CHAPTER     XIV. 

THE  grandmother  was  out  of  doors,  arranging  a  bed  in  the  cov- 
ered wagon.  .  She  told  her  brother  to  drive  carefully,  and  not 
crack  his  whip  so  often  ;  for  Uncle  Peter,  known  as  the  little  pitch- 
man, was  so  elated  at  the  idea  of  having  a  whip  and  two  horses 
under  his  charge,  that  he  cracked  his  whip  incessantly. 

"  The  stranger 's  putting  on  airs,  I  think.  Who  is  she,  anyhow  ?  " 
asked  the  little  pitchman,  taking  the  thong  between  his  teeth,  as  if 
he  could  only  thus  prevent  himself  from  cracking  the  whip. 

"A  poor,  sick  creature,"  said  Beate.  It  went  hard  with  her  to 
say  this,  and  yet  it  was  not  a  lie. 

Hansei  had  gone  on  with  the  large  team.  And  now  the 
women,  too,  <  greed  that  it  was  time  to  start.  Irma  now  saw  Wal- 
purga's  child  for  the  first  time,  and,  as  soon  as  it  caught  Irma's  eye, 
.t  shouted  and  wanted  to  go  to  her. 

"Oh  !  that's  lovely,"  exclaimed  Walpurga  and  her  mother  at 
the  same  time.  "  She  's  always  so  shy." 

Irma  took  tin  child  in  her  arms  and  hugged  and  kissed  it.  She 
felt  as  if  again  embracing  the  childlike  purity  which,  in  herself,  had 
withered  and  died.  Her  expression  changed  from  one  of  joy  to 
that  of  sadness,  and  the  grandmother  said  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  377 

"  You  've  a  good,  honest  heart ;  children  feel  and  know  that. 
But  now  you  'd  better  give  the  child  to  Walpurga  and  get  into  the 
wagon." 

A  bed  had  been  prepared  for  Irma.  The  grandmother  got  up 
into  the  wagon  and,  taking  the  child  in  her  arms,  sat  down  beside 
Irma.  Walpurga  and  Gundel  sat  in  front,  looking  about  them. 
The  uncle  walked  beside  the  horses,  and  would,  now  and  then,  cast 
?  sorrowful  look  at  the  whip  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  crack.  No 
c  ne  spoke  a  word  ;  but  the  child  laughed  and  prattled  and  wanted 
Irma  to  play  with  her. 

"Go  to  sleep  now,"  said  the  grandmother,  and  in  a  soft  voice 
she  sang  both  child  and  Irma  to  sleep. 

"Who  's  that  coming  down  the  hill  ?  "  suddenly  asked  Walpurga 
of  the  uncle. 

"  The  one  's  a  forester,  and  the  other  must  be  a  nobleman's  ser- 
vant." 

Walpurga  was  alarmed.  When  the  horsemen  drew  near,  she 
recognized  Baum.  Swift  as  thought  she  slipped  into  the  wagon 
and  left  Gundel  sitting  alone  in  front. 

The  horsemen  drew  nearer,  and  at  last  halted  by  the  wagon. 
The  child  awoke  and  cried,  and  thus  awakened  Irma.  A  thin 
curtain  was  all  that  separated  her  from  him.  The  horse  that  Baum 
rode  distended  its  nostrils,  threw  its  head  back,  and  reared  so  that 
it  was  difficult  to  hold  it  in  check.  Irma  recognized  it.  It  was 
Pluto,  her  own  horse  ;  and  so  it  had  been  captured  and  brought 
back  again.  If  the  horse  could  have  spoken,  it  would  have  said : 
"  Here  is  my  mistress  ;  here  is  the  one  whom  you  seek." 

Irma  could  hear  Baum  asking  the  uncle : 

"  Did  you  meet  a  young  lady  in  a  blue  riding-habit  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Did  you  hear  any  one  mention  such  a  person  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Whom  have  you  in  the  wagon  there  ?  " 

Irma  trembled.  Walpurga  grasped  her  hand.  It  was  as  cold 
as  ice.  The  child  cried  again. 

"You  can  hear  it;  there  's  a  little  child  in  there,"  said  the  for- 
ester to  Baum.  "  Let 's  go  on." 

The  horsemen  rode  off,  and  Irma,  looking  after  them,  could  see 
her  feathered  hat  hanging  from  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 

The  wagon  slowly  ascended  the  hill,  while  the  horsemen  hurried 
off  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Irma  kissed  the  child  and  said  : 

"  O  you  darling !  you  Ve  saved  me,  for  the  second  time.  Let 
me  get  out,  too.  I  want  to  walk." 

The  mother  dissuaded  her  and  begged  her  to  remain  with  her. 
Irma  yielded ;  she  had  hardly  lain  down  before  she  fell  asleep 
again,  and  no  longer  knew  that  she  was  crossing  the  mountains  io 
a  farmer's  wagon. 


3?8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

It  was  already  past  noon  when  they  overtook  Hansei,  far  up  the 
mountain,  where  he  had  stopped  to  rest  his  horses. 

"  Let 's  keep  together,"  said  he.  His  anger  had  vanished  and  he 
now  was  twice  as  kindly  as  before.  "  I  think  we  ought  n't  to  ent';r 
our  new  home  in  such  a  straggling  way.  I  've  given  the  servants 
strict  orders  to  drive  slowly.  We  can  easily  catch  up  with  'em,  for 
our  wagons  are  light,  and  then  we  '11  all  be  together.  I  want 
mother  and  wife  and  child  to  be  with  me  when  we  enter  on  the 
farm." 

"  That 's  right !  I  'm  glad  you  Ve  come  to  your  senses  again. 
Oh  !  I  know  you.  When  you  're  excited,  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to 
leave  you  alone  for  a  little  while,  and  you  soon  get  homesick  after 
your  folks  and  the  good  Hansei  that 's  in  you  ;  and  then  you  're  all 
right  again.  But  come  here.  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  To- 
day, you  '11  have  to  prove  whether  you  're  a  real,  strong  man  ;  and 
if  you  do,  I  '11  never,  in  all  my  life,  deny  that  men  are  stronger  than 
we." 

"Well!  what  is  it?" 

She  lead  him  into  the  inn  garden  and  said  : 

"  You  've  often  heard  tell  of  the  household  fairies  they  used  to 
have  in  olden  times?  They  were  good,  peaceful  spirits  that 
brought  blessings  and  wealth  and  good  fortune  to  whatever  house 
they  visited.  But  there  was  one  condition.  As  long  as  they 
stayed,  no  one  dared  ask  their  name,  or  where  they  'd  come  from." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  I  've  heard  that  often  enough  ;  but  I  do  n't  believe 
a  word  of  it." 

"  You  need  n't  believe  it ;  I  do  n't  ask  you  to.  I  want  to  put  you 
to  the  test.  Listen  !  Mother  and  I  have  ever  so  tender  and  deli- 
cate a  creature  in  the  wagon,  there.  She  's  strong  and  powerful, 
but  quite  strange  in  her  ways.  She  means  to  stay  with  us,  but 
she  won't  be  a  burden.  And  now,  Hansei,  tell  me;  have  you 
strength  enough  never  to  ask  her  who  and  whence  she  is,  or  any 
other  question  ?  You  must  take  my  word  for  it.  I  know  her 
and  know  what  I  'm  doing  in  keeping  her  with  us ;  and  on  the 
strength  of  that,  will  you  be  good  and  faithful  and  kind  to  her? 
Tell  me  ;  can  you,  will  you  be  this?  " 

"  Is  that  the  way  I  'm  to  prove  whether  I  'm  a  strong  man,  or 
not?" 

"  Yes,  that 's  it ;  nothing  more." 

"  I  can  do  that ;  and  here  's  my  hand  on  it." 

"  Let  me  have  it." 

"  You  '11  see.     I  '11  keep  my  promise  ;  that 's  easy  enough." 

"  It  is  n't  as  easy  as  you  think  for,  Hansei." 

"  For  the  sake  of  getting  you,  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  to  admit 
that  a  man  has  more  strength  of  mind  than  a  woman,  and  can 
easier  undertake  a  thing,  and  carry  it  out,  too,  I  '11  show  you  what 
I  can  do.  Your  good  friend  shall  be  mine,  too.  But  she  is  n't 
crazy,  nor  does  n't  bite,  does  she  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  379 

"  No,  you  need  n't  worry  about  that." 

"  All  right  then  ;  that  settles  it." 

Hansei  went  out  to  the  wagon  with  Walpurga,  who  drew  the 
curtain  aside  and  said  : 

"  My  husband  wants  to  bid  you  welcome." 

""Welcome  !  "  said  Irma,  offering  her  hand  to  Hansei. 

He  stared  at  her  in  mute  astonishment,  and  it  was  not  until 
Walpiirga  raised  his  hand  that  he  offered  it  to  Irma. 

They  had  taken  up  their  journey  once  more,  and  Hansei,  who, 
with  his  wife,  was  walking  up  hill  in  advance  of  the  wagons,  said  : 

"  Wife  !  if  it  was  n't  daylight,  and  you  and  mother  and* the  child 
were  n't  here, — if  I  was  n't  quite  sure  that  I  'm  in  my  right  senses, 
and  that  it 's  all  true — I  'd  really  believe  that  you  had  a  fairy  in  the 
wagon  there.  Is  she  lame  ?  can't  she  walk?  " 

"  She  can  walk  very  well." 

Walpurga  turned  back  towards  the  wagon  and  said  : 

"  Irmgard,  do  n't  you  want  to  get  out  for  a  little  while  and  walk 
up  the  hill  with  us?  It 's  so  beautiful  here." 

"Yes,  gladly,"  was  the  answer. 

Irma  alighted  and  walked  with  them  for  awhile.  Hansei  re- 
garded her  with  timid  side-glances.  The  stranger  limped.  Per- 
haps it 's  true  after  all ;  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  a  swan's  foot  and 
can't  walk  well.  He  cast  sly  looks  at  her  feet,  but  they  were  just 
like  those  of  other  people.  Gradually,  he  ventured  to  raise  his  eyes. 
He  saw  that  the  clothes  she  had  on  were  his  wife's,  and  that  she 
was  wondrously  beautiful.  His  head  grew  so  warm  that  he  lifted 
his  hat  now  and  then.  What  's  real  in  the  world  and  what  is  n't  ? 
he  would  ask  himself.  Had  his  wife  a  double  ?  and  could  she  ap- 
pear in  another  form  ? 

Walpurga  lingered  behind  and  left  the  two  walking  by  them- 
selves. Irma  asked  herself  what  she  had  better  say  to  Hansei, 
and  how  she  should  address  him.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life 
that  she  found  herself  in  an  humble  position.  "  How  should  I  ad- 
dress one  of  an  inferior  class  ?  "  thought  she.  At  last,  she  said  : 

"You  're  a  happy  man  ;  you  have  a  wife  and  child  and  mother- 
in-law  as  good  as  one  can  wish  for  in  this  world." 

"Yes,  yes,  they  '11  do  very  well,"  said  Hansei. 

Although  she  had  not  intended  it,  Irma's  praise  was,  to  a  certain 
extent,  patronizing,  and  Hansei  had  observed  this.  He  would 
have  confirmed  her  opinion  by  his  answer,  and  would  have  liked 
to  ask  :  "  Have  you  known  her  long?  "  but  he  remembered  that  he 
had  promised  to  ask  no  questions.  Walpurga  was  right ;  it  was  a 
hard  task.  He  rolled  his  tongue  about  in  his  mouth  and  felt  as  if 
the  one-half  of  it  were  tied. 

"  The  country  's  pretty  rough  hereabouts  ;  further  up,  when  you 
reach  our  new  home  it 's  much  better,"  said  he,  at  last.  It  was 
long  before  he  could  say  that.  He  had  intended  to  ask  whether 


3&>  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  stranger  had  ever  been  in  that  neighborhood  before  ;  but  he 
had  promised  to  ask  no  questions  and  to  transpose  one's  questions 
is  not  so  easy  a  task. 

Irma  felt  that  she  must  say  something  that  would  put  the  man 
at  his  ease,  and  she  began  :  "  Hansei !  " — his  face  brightened  when 
he  heard  her  calling  him  by  name — "  Hansei,  try  to  think  that 
you  Ve  known  me  for  ever  so  long ;  do  n't  look  at  me  as  a  stranger. 
I  do  n't  like  to  ask  anything  of  others ;  but  I  do  ask  this  of  you. 
I  know  you  '11  do  it ;  for  you  've  a  good,  kind  face.  And  it  could  n't 
be  otherwise ;  Walpurga's  husband,  with  whom  she  is  so  happy, 
must  be  a  good  man.  I  beg  of  you,  therefore,  do  n't  be  con- 
cerned ;  I  '11  not  be  a  burden  to  you." 

"  Oh,  there  's  no  idea  of  such  a  thing.  We  've  enough,  thank 
God.  One  cow  more  in  the  stable,  or  one  person  more  in  the  house, 
won't  make  any  difference  ;  so  you  need  n't  worry  about  that. — And 
we  've  also  taken  charge  of  an  old  pensioner  on  the  estate  and — 
I  do  n't  want  to  know  what  you  do  n't  want  to  tell,  and  if  any  one  in 
this  world  offers  to  harm  you,  call  me,  and  I  '11  defend  you  with  my 
life.  But  it  seems  you  have  n't  been  much  among  the  mountains  ; 
so  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  In  climbing  mountains,  the 
rule  is :  Go  right  on,  and  never  stop." 

They  waited  for  the  wagon.  Hansei  drew  a  long  breath  after  his 
long  speech.  He  felt  satisfied  with  himself,  and  looked  about  him 
with  a  self-complacent  air. 

Irma  sat  clown  by  the  wayside.  She  was  now  on  the  heights 
which,  on  the  evening  before,  she  had  seen  all  aglow  with  the  rosy 
sunset,  and  then  fading  away  in  the  pale  mists.  The  giant  peaks 
that  she  had  beheld  from  afar  were  now  near,  and  seemed  still 
vaster  than  before.  Here  and  there  in  the  woods,  there  was  a 
clearing  of  meadow  and  field,  and,  now  and  then,  a  house  was 
visible.  Looking  down,  she  caught  glimpses  of  the  foaming, 
sparkling  forest  stream,  so  far  below  them  that  they  could  scarcely 
hear  its  roar. 

Hansei  walked  at  Irma's  side,  but  without  uttering  a  word. 

The  wagon  overtook  them.  Irma  got  in  again,  Hansei  assisting 
her  quite  politely.  He  was  about  to  lift  his  hat  to  her,  when,  with 
cheerful  word  and  glance,  she  thanked  him. 

"She's  a  very  decent  person,"  said  Hansei  to  his  wife,  "and 
we  've  a  nice  little  room  for  her,  too,  if  she  is  n't  afraid  of  t'ie  old 
pensioner." 

Walpurga  felt  happy  that  the  great  point  was  gained. 

As  Hansei  had  talked  with  the  stranger,  the  little  pitchman 
thought  himself  entitled  to  say  something,  too ;  and,  as  the  first 
sign  of  his  resolve,  he  cracked  his  whip  so  loudly  that  the  sound 
was  echoed  back  from  the  valley  and  the  mountains. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  to  be  quiet  ?  "  said  the  old  woman. 

"  She — she  's  well  again,"  replied  the  little  pitchman.  "  Is  n't  12 
so  ?  "  said  he,  addressing  Irma.  "  The  noise  do  n't  hurt  you  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  381 

Irma  told  him  not  to  put  himself  out  on  her  account  and, 
emboldened  by  her  answer,  he  enquired : 

"  What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"Irmgard." 

"Indeed!  why,  that  was  my  wife's  name,  and,  if  you've  no 
objection,  I  '11  marry  an  Irmgard  again.  I  've  got  half  of  a  house 
and  a  whole  goat.  I  owe  something  on  the  house,  but  the  goat 's 
paid  for.  Say  !  will  you  have  me  ?  " 

"Don't  make  such  jokes,  Peter,"  cried  Beate,  nothing  loth, 
however,  to  hear  pleasantry  from  some  quarter. 

The  little  pitchman  laughed  heartily,  and  was  well  pleased  with 
himself.  Yes,  Hansei  was  now  the  freehold  farmer,  but  still  he 
could  n't  talk  to  people  the  way  he  could.  The  little  pitchman  was 
quite  entertaining.  When  he  had  nothing  more  to  say,  he  would 
gather  strawberries,  which  grew  by  the  wayside  and,  in  this  high 
region,  did  not  ripen  until  late.  He  laid  them  on  a  hazel  leaf  and 
offered  them  to  Irma.  Yes,  Peter  has  good  manners ;  he  could 
tell  that  by  his  sister's  face,  for  she  smiled  her  approval. 

The  journey  to  their  new  home  proceeded  without  further  ad- 
venture. When  they  came  in  sight  of  her  native  village,  and  before 
they  had  reached  the  boundary  line,  the  grandmother  requested 
them  to  stop.  She  alighted,  went  into  the  woods,  knelt  down 
until  her  face  touched  the  ground,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  God  be  praised,  I  'm  with  thee  again  !  Keep  me  well,  let  me 
and  mine  pass  many  peaceful,  happy  days  on  thee,  and,  when  my 
last  hour  comes,  receive  me  kindly." 

She  went  back  to  the  wagon,  and  said  :  "  God  be  with  you  all ! 
now  we  're  at  home.  Do  you  see  that  house  up  there,  with  the  big 
linden  tree?  That 's  the  freehold  farm,  where  we  're  to  live." 

'  Gundel  and  the  child  alighted,   Irma  alone  remaining  in  the 
wagon.     All  the  others  walked  the  rest  of  the  way. 

They  passed  through  the  valley  and  reached  the  village,  where 
they  were  still  an  hour's  walk  from  the  farm.  As  they  entered  the 
village,  the  little  pitchman  cracked  his  whip  loudly.  He  wanted 
every  one  to  see  his  kindred,  and  the  amount  of  property  he  was 
now  moving  with.  They  passed  by  a  little  cottage. 

"I  was  born  there,"  said  the  grandmother  to  Hansei. 

"I  '11  take  off  my  hat  to  that  house,"  replied  Hansei.  suiting  his' 
action  to  the  word. 

The  wagons  which  had  preceded  them  were  stopping  at  the  inn 
which  was  near  the  town-hall  and  the  church.  The  people  had 
gathered  there  to  get  a  look  at  the  new  freeholder  and  his  family. 
The  little  pitchman  acted  as  master  of  ceremonies,  and  pointed  out 
the  burgomaster's  wife  to  Walpurga.  Walpurga  went  up  to  her, 
and  Beate  felt  truly  happy,  for  the  mother  of  the  burgomaster's 
wife,  she  in  whose  house  Beate,  while  yet  in  her  school-days,  had 
served  as  nursemaid,  was  also  there.  She  enquired  for  the  boy 


382  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

whom  she  had  then  taken  care  of.  "  He  's  dead,"  they  said,  "but 
there  's  his  son."  A  stalwart  lad  was  called,  but  when  Beate  told 
him  that  she  had  taken  care  of  his  father  while  he  was  yet  a  little 
child,  he  had  not  a  word  to  say. 

Half  the  village  had  gathered  about  the  new  arrivals,  and  they 
remained  there  chatting  for  a  long  while. 

Irma  lay  there  in  the  wagon  in  the  open  market-place,  forgotten 
by  those  whom  she  had  joined.  The  grandmother  was  the  first  to 
think  of  her ;  she  hurried  out  and  said  : 

"  Forgive  us  for  forgetting  you  so,  but  we  '11  soon  be  home." 

Irma  replied  that  they  need  not  trouble  themselves  about  her. 
The  grandmother  did  not  quite  understand  the  tone  in  which  she 
spoke. 

Here  on  the  public  road,  while  she  lay  in  the  covered  farm  wagon 
and  could  hear  the  loud  talking  of  the  crowd,  she  felt  a  pang  of  grief 
to  think  that  she  was  an  object  of  charity,  and  that  she  to  whom  the 
world  had  once  done  homage,  was  now  forgotten.  But  she 
quickly  regained  her  self-command.  It  is  better  thus,  for  thus  you 
are  alone. 

At  last  they  drove  on.  The  road  again  lay  up  the  mountain. 
The  grandmother  was  quite  happy  and  greeted  every  one.  The 
plum  trees  were  laden  with  fruit,  and  the  apple  trees  along  the  road 
— she  had,  while  yet  a  girl,  seen  them  planted — had  grown  so  large 
that  they  bent  under  the  weight  of  the  ruddy  fruit.  The  grand- 
mother often  said  :  "  I  never  thought  it  was  so  far ;  no,  I  meant  to 
say,  I  thought  it  was  further  than  this.  Dear  me,  how  I  'm  talk- 
ing. It  seems  as  if  the  world  had  shrunk  together.  Children,  I 
tell  you  what,  you  '11  live  to  see  great,  and  good,  and  beautiful 
things  come  to  pass.  Come,  give  me  the  child,"  said  she  to  Gun- 
del,  and  she  took  Burgei  in  her  arms,  her  face  radiant  with  joy. 

"  Burgei,  I  've  sung  here,  and  so  will  you  ;  and  here  I  carried 
your  mother  on  my  arms,  just  as  I  'm  carrying  you,  now.  There  ! 
give  that  to  the  bird." 

She  had  taken  a  piece  of  bread  from  her  pocket  and  gave  the 
child  some  crumbs  to  scatter  to  the  birds  on  the  way,  while  she, 
too,  kept  throwing  crumbs  to  the  right  and  the  left. 

She  did  not  speak  another  word,  but  her  lips  moved  silently. 

CHAPTER   XV. 

AS  they  drew  near  the  house,  they  could  hear  the  neighing  of  the 
white  foal. 

"That 's  a  good  beginning,"  cried  Hansei. 

The  grandmother  placed  the  child  on  the  ground,  and  got  her 
hymnbook  out  of  the  chest.  Pressing  the  book  against  her  breast 
with  both  hands,  she  went  into  the  house,  being  the  first  to  enter. 
Hansei,  who  was  standing  near  the  stable,  took  a  piece  of  chalk 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  383 

from  his  pocket  and  wrote  the  letters  C.  M.  B.,  and  the  date  on 
the  stable-door.  Then  he,  too,  went  into  the  house,  his  wife, 
Irma  and  the  child  following  him. 

Before  going  into  the  sitting-room,  the  grandmother  knocked 
thrice  at  the  door.  When  she  had  entered,  she  placed  ihe  open 
hymnbook  upon  the  open  \\indow-sill,  so  that  the  sun  might  read 
in  it.  There  were  no  tables  or  chairs  in  the  room. 

Hansei  shook  hands  with  his  wife  and  said,  "  God  be  with  you, 
freeholder's  wife." 

From  that  moment,  Walpurga  was  known  as  the  "  freeholder's 
wife  "  and  was  never  called  by  any  other  name. 

And  now  they  showed  Irma  her  room.  The  view  extended  over 
meadow  and  brook  and  the  neighboring  forests.  She  examined 
the  room.  There  was  naught  but  a  green  Dutch  oven  and  bare 
walls,  and  she  had  brought  nothing  with  her.  In  her  paternal 
mansion,  and  at  the  castle,  there  were  chairs  and  tables,  horses  and 
carriages  ;  but  here — 

None  of  these  follow  the  dead. 

Irma  knelt  by  the  window  and  gazed  out  over  meadow  and  forest, 
where  the  sun  was  now  sinking. 

How  was  it  yesterday — was  it  only  yesterday  ? — when  you  saw  the 
sun  go  down  ? 

Her  thoughts  were  confused  and  indistinct.  She  pressed  hei 
hand  to  her  forehead  ;  the  white  handkerchief  was  still  there.  A 
bird  looked  up  to  her  from  the  meadow,  and,  when  her  glance 
rested  upon  it,  it  flew  away  into  the  woods. 

"  The  bird  has  its  nest,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  and  I — " 

Suddenly,  she  drew  herself  up.  Hansei  had  walked  out  to  the 
grass  plot  in  front  of  Irma's  window,  removed  the  slip  of  the  cherry 
tree  from  his  hat,  and  planted  it  in  the  ground. 

The  grandmother  stood  by  and  said  :  "  I  trust  that  you  '11  be 
alive  and  hearty,  long  enough  to  climb  this  tree  and  gather  cherries 
from  it,  and  that  your  children  and  grandchildren  may  do  the 
same." 

There  was  much  to  do  and  to  set  to  rights  in  the  house,  and,  on 
such  occasions,  it  usually  happens  that  those  who  are  dearest  to 
one  another  are  as  much  in  each  other's  way  as  closets  and  tables 
which  have  not  yet  been  placed  where  they  belong.  The  best 
proof  of  the  amiability  of  these  folks  was  that  they  assisted  each 
other  cheerfully,  and,  indeed,  with  jest  and  song. 

Walpurga  moved  her  best  furniture  into  Irma's  room.  Hansei 
did  not  interpose  a  word.  "  Are  n't  you  too  lonely  here  ?  "  asked 
Walpurga,  after  she  had  arranged  everything  as  well  as  possible  in 
so  short  a  time. 

"  Not  at  all.  There  is  no  place  in  all  the  world  lonely  enough 
."or  me.  You  've  so  much  to  do  now  ;  do  n't  worry  about  me.  I 
must  now  arrange  things  within  myself.  I  see  how  good  ycu  and 
yours  are  ;  fate  has  directed  me  kindly." 


384  ON  THh  HEIGHTS. 

"  Oh  do  n't  talk  that  way.  If  you  had  n't  given  me  the  money, 
how  could  we  have  bought  the  farm  ?  This  is  really  your  own." 

"Don't  speak  of  that,"  said  Irma,  with  a  sudden  start,  "never 
mention  that  money  to  me  again." 

Walpurga  promised,  and  merely  added  that  Irma  need  n't  be 
alarmed  at  the  old  man  who  lived  in  the  room  above  hers,  and 
who,  at  times,  would  talk  to  himself  and  make  a  loud  noise.  He 
was  old  and  blind.  The  children  teased  and  worried  him,  but  he 
was  n't  bad  and  would  harm  no  one.  Walpurga  offered,  at  all 
events,  to  leave  Gundel  with  Irma  for  the  first  night ;  but  Irma  pre- 
ferred to  be  alone. 

"  You  '11  stay  with  us  ;  won't  you  ?  "  said  Walpurga,  hesitatingly. 
"You  won't  have  such  bad  thoughts  again  ?  " 

"  No,  never.  But  do  n't  talk  now,  my  voice  pains  me  and  so 
does  yours,  too.  Good  night !  leave  me  alone." 

Irma  sat  by  the  window  and  gazed  out  into  the  dark  night. 

Was  it  only  a  day  since  she  had  passed  through  such  terrors  ? 
Suddenly,  she  sprang  from  her  seat  with  a  shudder.  She  had  seen 
Black  Esther's  head  rising  out  of  the  darkness,  had  again  heard 
her  dying  shriek,  had  beheld  the  distorted  face  and  the  wild,  black 
tresses. — Her  hair  stood  on  end.  Her  thoughts  carried  her  to  the 
bottom  of  the  lake,  where  she  now  lay  dead.  She  opened  the 
window  and  inhaled  the  soft,  balmy  air.  She  sat  by  the  open 
casement  for  a  long  while,  and  suddenly  heard  some  one  laughing 
in  the  room  above  her. 

"Ha!  ha!  I  won't  do  you  the  favor!  I  won't  die!  I  won't 
die.  Pooh,  pooh  !  I  '11  live  till  I  'm  a  hundred  years  old  and  then 
I  '11  get  a  new  lease  of  life." 

It  was  the  old  pensioner.     After  a  while,  he  continued  : 

"  I  'm  not  so  stupid ;  I  know  that  it 's  night  now  and  the  free- 
holder and  his  wife  are  come.  I  '11  give  them  lots  of  trouble.  I  'm 
Jochem.  Jochem  's  my  name,  and  what  the  people  do  n't  like,  I  do 
for  spite.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  I  do  n't  use  any  light  and  they  must  make 
me  an  allowance  for  that.  I  '11  insist  on  it,  if  I  have  to  go  to  the 
king  himself  about  it." 

Irma  started,  when  she  heard  the  king  mentioned. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  go  to  the  king,  to  the  king !  to  the  king !  "  cried  the 
old  man  overhead,  as  if  he  knew  that  the  word  tortured  Irma. 

She  heard  him  close  the  window  and  move  a  chair.  The  old 
man  went  to  bed. 

Irma  looked  out  into  the  dark  night.  Not  a  star  was  to  be  seen. 
There  was  no  light  anywhere ;  nothing  was  heard  but  the  roar- 
ing of  the  mountain  stream  and  the  rustling  of  the  trees.  The 
night  seemed  like  a  dark  abyss. 

"  Are  you  still  awake  ?  "  a'sked  a  soft  voice,  without.  It  was  the 
grandmother. 

"  I  was  once  a  servaj  t  at  this  farm,"  said  she.     "  That  was  -forty 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  385 

years  ago ;  and  now  I  'm  the  mother  of  the  freeholder's  wife,  and 
almost  the  head  one  on  the  farm.  But  I  keep  thinking  of  yoj  all 
the  time.  1  keep  trying  to  think  how  it  is  in  your  heart.  I  've 
something  to  tell  you.  Come  out  again.  I  '11  take  you  where  it  '11 
do  you  good  to  be.  Come  !  " 

Irma  went  out  into  the  dark  night  with  the  old  woman.  How 
different  this  guide  from  the  one  she  had  had  the  day  before  ! 

The  old  woman  led  her  to  the  fountain.  She  had  brought  a  cup 
with  her  and  gave  it  to  Irma.  "  Come,  drink  ;  good  cold  water  's 
the  best.  Water  comforts  the  body  ;  it  cools  and  quiets  us  ;  it 's 
like  bathing  one's  soul.  I  know  what  sorrow  is,  too.  One  's 
insides  burn  as  if  they  were  afire." 

Irma  drank  some  of  the  water  of  the  mountain  spring.  It 
seemed  like  a  healing  dew,  whose  influence  was  diffused  through 
her  whole  frame. 

The  grandmother  led  her  back  to  her  room  and  said  :  "You  Ve 
still  got  the  shirt  on  that  you  wore  at  the  palace.  You  '11  never 
stop  thinking  of  that  place  till  you  Ve  burned  that  shirt." 

The  old  woman  would  listen  to  no  denial  and  Irma  was  as  docile 
as  a  little  child.  The  grandmother  hurried  to  get  a  coarse  shirt  for 
her  and,  after  Irma  had  put  it  on,  brought  wood  and  a  light,  and 
burnt  the  other  at  the  open  fire.  Irma  was  also  obliged  to  cut  off 
her  long  nails  and  throw  them  into  the  fire.  Then  Beate  disap- 
peared for  a  few  moments,  and  returned  with  Irma's  riding-habit. 
"You  must  have  been  shot;  for  there  are  balls  in  this,"  said  she, 
spreading  out  the  long,  blue  habit. 

A  smile  passed  over  Irma's  face,  as  she  felt  the  balls  that  had 
been  sewed  into  the  lower  part  of  the  habit,  so  that  it  might  hang 
more  gracefully.  Beate  had  also  brought  something  very  useful — 
a  deerskin. 

"Hansel  sends  you  this,"  said  she.  "He  thinks  that  may  be 
you  're  used  to  having  something  soft  for  your  feet  to  rest  on.  He 
shot  the  deer  himself." 

Irma  appreciated  the  kindness  of  the  man  who  could  show  such 
affection  to  one  who  was  both  a  stranger  and  a  mystery  to  him. 

The  grandmother  remained  at  Irma's  bedside  until  she  fell 
asleep.  Then  she  breathed  thrice  on  the  sleeper  and  left  the 
room. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  Irma  awoke. 

"  To  the  king !  to  the  king  !  to  the  king  !  "  The  words  had 
been  uttered  thrice  in  a  loud  voice.  Was  it  hers,  or  that  of  the  man 
overhead  ?  Irma  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and  felt  the 
bandage.  Was  it  sea  grass  that  had  gathered  there  ?  Was  she 
lying  alive  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake  ?  Gradually  all  that  had 
happened  became  clear  to  her. 

Alone,  in  the  dark  and  silent  night,  she  wept.  And  these  were 
17 


386  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  first  tears  she  had  shed  since  the  terrible  events  through 
which  she  had  passed. 

It  was  evening  when  Irma  awoke.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
forehead.  A  wet  cloth  had  been  bound  round  it.  She  had  been 
sleeping  nearly  twenty-four  hours.  The  grandmother  was  sitting 
by  her  bed. 

"  You  've  a  strong  constitution,"  said  the  old  wroman,  "and  that 
helped  you.  It 's  all  right  now." 

Irma  arose.  She  felt  strong  and,  guided  by  the  grandmother, 
walked  over  to  the  dwelling-house. 

"God  be  praised,  that  you  're  well  again,"  said  Walpurga,  who 
was  standing  there  with  her  husband ;  and  Hansei  added:  "Yes, 
that 's  right." 

Irma  thanked  them  and  looked  up  at  the  gable  of  the  house. 
What  words  there  met  her  eye  ? 

"Don't  you  think  the  house  has  a  good  motto  written  on  its 
forehead?  "  asked  Hansei. 

Irma  started.  On  the  gable  of  the  house,  she  read  the  following 
inscription : 

EAT  AND  DRINK:  FORGET  NOT  GOD:  THINE  HONOR  GUARD: 
OF  ALL  THY  STORE, 
THOU  'LT  CARRY  HENCE 
A  WINDING-SHEET, 
AND  NOTHING  MORE. 


BOOK    VI. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THROUGH  Irma's  sudden  flight,  Baum's  occupation  was  gone. 
He  returned  to  where  she  was  to  have  waited  for  him,  and 
found  that  she  had  disappeared.  He  gazed  into  the  distance,  but 
saw  nothing.  A  dog  following  its  master's  track  was  better  off 
than  he,  for  while  instinct  would  help  it,  man  could  only  guess. 

Had  she  flown  ?  and  if  so,  whither  ?  Why  had  she  done  so  ? 
and  what,  under  such  circumstances,  was  the  duty  of  a  subordi- 
nate ?  Ought  he  to  pursue  her  who  had  sent  him  back  ?  She  had 
honestly  and  frankly  sent  the  dog  home  ;  but  the  servant  was  only 
human  and  must  therefore  be  imposed  upon. 

"  For  shame,  Countess  !  Thus  to  fool  a  poor  servant  who  dare 
not  disobey  !  "  said  Baum,  speaking  to  himself.  He  felt  that  now, 
for  the  first  time,  he  was  put  to  the  great  test,  and  that  this  was 
the  time  to  prove  himself  a  reasoning  servant.  Perhaps  the  letters 
he  had  brought  contained  an  appointment  for  this  evening.  They 
are  at  the  hunt  and,  as  if  by  chance,  meet  in  the  woods ;  for  it 
would  not  do  to  visit  Wildenort  openly,  as  it  was  but  a  short  time 
since  they  had  gone  into  mourning  there.  And  so  they  mean  to 
keep  even  the  servant  in  ignorance  of  their  plans.  But  why  should 
they  ?  He  could  have  been  depended  upon. 

But  perhaps  the  Countess  had  escaped  after  all. 

But  why  ?  and  whither  ? 

They  had  shown  so  much  confidence  in  him.  The  head  cham- 
berlain had  told  him,  before  leaving :  "  You  're  always  to  remain 
near  the  Countess,  always — do  you  understand  ?  And  you  are  to 
conduct  her  back  to  court."  Could  they  have  dreamt  that  she 
meant  to  escape  ?  and  if  so,  why  should  they  only  half  trust  him  ? 

"  I  am  innocent !  "  exclaimed  Baum  ;  but  what  avails  innocence  ? 
It  was  more  important  to  be  clever  and  sensible. 

Baum's  master,  Baroness  Steigeneck's  chief  chamberlain,  had 
imparted  some  valuable  precepts  to  him.  "  There  are  two  things," 
said  he,  "that  a  good  servant  should  always  have  with  him — a 
sharp  knife  and  a  good  watch.  When  anything  happens  that  dis- 
concerts you,  take  out  your  watch,  count  off  ten  seconds,  and  then 
make  up  your  mind  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

One  disadvantage  possessed  by  this  precept,  in  common  with 


388  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

many  other  good  ones,  is  the  great  danger  of  your  forgetting  it 
when  excited. 

Baum  rode  back  to  the  castle.  Perhaps  the  Countess  had  re- 
turned by  some  other  road  ;  perhaps  her  maid  could  tell  him  where 
she  had  intended  to  ride  to.  He  asked  the  maid :  "Is  your  mis- 
tress here  ?  " 

'  No  ;  she  rode  out  with  you." 

'Do  n't  you  know  where  she  intended  going?  " 

'  Has  she  left  you  ?     Oh,  God  !  now  she  '11  do  it,  for  sure." 
•  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

'  I  Ve  already  told  the  Count,  that  I  believed  she  'd  take  her  life. 
I  believe  she  has  either  poison  or  a  dagger  with  her ;  she  '11  kill 
herself." 

"  If  she  meant  to  take  her  life  that  way,  she  might  have  done  so 
in  her  room,"  replied  Baum. 

"  Yes,  yes !  It  was  only  last  night  that  she  cried  out  in  her 
sleep,  '  Deep  in  the  lake  ! '  Oh  gracious  heavens  !  my  dear,  lovely 
Countess  is  dead  !  Oh,  what  an  unhappy  creature  I  am  !  what 
will  become  of  me  !  " 

Baum  endeavored  to  pacify  her,  and  enquired  whether  the  Coun- 
tess had  left  any  papers  anywhere. 

The  writing  desk  was  open  and  papers  were  strewn  about  on  it. 
They  found  a  letter  directed  to  the  queen.  Baum  wanted  to  take 
it,  but  the  maid  would  not  give  it  up.  She  would  not  suffer  a 
stranger  to  pry  into  her  mistress's  secrets. 

In  the  midst  of  the  dispute,  Baum  suddenly  took  out  his  watch. 
The  chamberlain's  advice  had  occurred  to  him.  He  looked  fixedly 
at  the  dial,  and  when  he  had  finished  counting  ten,  he  nodded 
with  a  self-satisfied  air,  for  he  had  regained  his  presence  of 
mind. 

Very  well,  the  maid  might  deliver  the  letter  herself;  that  would 
neither  help  nor  hinder  matters.  But  he  would  now  show  himself 
worthy  of  the  greatest  confidence.  His  task  was  to  institute  en- 
quiries ;  perhaps  he  might  yet  save  the  Countess. 

While  the  maid,  who  was  hastily  putting  the  letter  into  her 
pocket,  had  turned  her  back  upon  him,  he  saw  another  letter  ad- 
dressed "To  my  friend."  He  quickly  perceived  that  this  was  of 
far  greater  value  than  the  other,  and  put  it  into  his  own  pocket. 
He  well  knew  that  there  was  only  one  person  for  whom  it  could 
be  intended,  and  he  knew  who  that  person  was.  The  maid  had 
heard  the  rustling  of  the  paper,  and  now  asked  him  to  give  it 
to  her.  Baum  ran  out  of  the  room  and  summoned  the  servants. 
The  maid  followed  him,  and  he  now  quickly  changed  the  attitude 
of  defense  for  one  of  attack,  and  demanded  the  letter  to  the  queen, 
in  order  that  he  might  open  it  and  thus  obtain  some  clue  as  to  the 
Countess's  whereabouts.  He  said  that  he  would  hold  the  maid  re- 
sponsible for  the  consequences.  She  ran  away  and  he  made  no 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  389 

further  attempt  to  carry  out  his  plan,  for  he  did  not  know  whether 
he  had  a  right  to  open  the  letter.  At  any  rate,  he  had  undisputed 
possession  of  the  more  important  epistle  to  the  king.  He  ordered 
the  groom  to  saddle  another  horse  and  accompany  him. 

The  rosy  sunset  was  already  gilding  the  windows  of  the  castle 
when  the  two  horsemen  rode  forth.  But  whither  ? 

They  questioned  a  laborer  working  on  the  road,  but  he  had  seen 
nothing  of  the  Countess.  They  saw  a  shepherd  driving  his  flock 
homeward,  and,  riding  up  to  him,  they  enquired  whether  he  had 
seen  her.  He  nodded  affirmatively,  but  the  loud  bleating  of  the 
sheep  prevented  them  from  hearing  what  he  said.  Baum  alighted 
and  learned  from  him  that  the  Countess  had  been  seen  riding 
full  tilt  along  the  road  that  led  to  the  Chamois  hill. 

"She  sits  her  horse  firmly,  and  rides  very  well,"  said  the  shep- 
herd, praising  her. 

This  was  a  clue,  at  all  events.  They  rode  off,  at  full  gallop,  in 
the  direction  indicated.  When  they  reached  the  drained  marsh, 
they  heard  the  neighing  of  a  horse.  They  rode  up  to  it,  and  found 
that  it  .was  Irma's  saddle-horse,  quietly  grazing,  but  bridle  and 
girth  were  covered  with  thick  foam.  "  The  Countess  has  been 
thrown.  Who  knows  where  she  may  be  lying,  weak  and  faint  ?  " 
said  Baum.  He  meant  to  be  discreet,  and  was  in  no  hurry  to  tell 
all  to  the  groom. 

They  searched  for  her  everywhere,  and  called  out  her  name 
again  and  again.  They  found  nothing,  nor  did  they  receive  any 
answer.  Baum  discovered  the  horse's  tracks,  but  was  somewhat 
confused  by  them,  as  it  had  taken  the  same  path  going  and  return- 
ing. They  took  the  horse  with  them,  but  did  not  mount,  for  it  was 
necessary  to  find  out  where  the  track  led  to.  Baum's  keen  eye 
enabled  him  to  distinguish  the  hoofprints  in  the  twilight. 

"  If  we  only  had  the  dog  with  us ;  he  knows  her.  Why  did  n't 
you  bring  the  dog  with  you  ?  "  he  asked  angrily. 

"You  did  n't  say  anything  about  it." 

"  Ride  back  and  bring  him.     No,  stay ;  I  can't  be  here  alone." 

They  reached  the  Chamois  hill.  "  Let 's  turn  aside,  into  the 
wood,"  cried  Baum. 

He  now  found  use  for  his  good  knife.  He  gathered  some  of  the 
brushwood,  bound  it  together  into  a  torch,  kindled  it,  and  its  light 
enabled  him  to  find  the  track.  It  was  here  that  the  horse  had 
turned.  There  were  also  prints  of  a  woman's  foot  going  in  the 
opposite  direction.  He  followed  them  for  a  few  paces  and  then 
lost  the  track. 

"She  must  be  here,"  said  Baum.  "It  was  from  here  that  she 
went  down  into  the  wood  ;  I  know  every  spot  about  here.  Keep 
to  the  left  with  the  two  horses,  but  always  near  enough  to  hear  my 
voice.  I  '11  keep  to  the  right  with  one." 

They  searched  and  shouted,  but  found  nothing.     At  last  they 


390  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

met  again.  A  stag  rushed  by.  Could  it  have  spoken,  it  might 
have  told  them  where  Irma  had  startled  it  from  its  resting  place — 
a  full  hour's  walk  from  where  they  then  were. 

"If  you  find  her,  you  '11  be  handsomely  rewarded,"  said  Baum 
to  the  groom.  He  addressed  him  in  the  way  he  thought  his  royal 
master  would  have  done. 

They  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night  wandering  in  the  forest. 
At  last,  they  were  obliged  to  lie  down  and  wait  for  the  daylight, 
for  there  was  no  longer  a  path  by  which  to  lead  the  horses.  - 

The  day  was  far  advanced  wrhen  Baum  and  the  groom  awoke. 
They  could  see  the  sparkling  lake  from  afar,  and  could  hear  the 
sounds  of  distant  music,  while  the  rock  near  wThich  they  stood 
echoed  the  reports  of  cannon: 

Baum  took  the  pistols  from  the  saddle-pouch  and  fired  them  off 
in  rapid  succession.  Then  he  listened  with  bated  breath,  thinking 
that  if  Irma  were  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood,  she  would  hear 
the  shots  and  give  some  sign  of  her  whereabouts  ;  but  not  a  sound 
was  heard. 

They  now  found  a  forest-path  leading  down  towards  the  lake. 
They  reached  the  water's  edge.  At  their  feet  lay  the  lake,  smooth 
as  a  mirror  and  stretching  away  for  miles.  Who  knew  what 
lay  concealed  within  its  depths?  In  the  distance,  there  was  a 
boat  with  people  and  beasts  aboard,  and  now  the  boat  reached  the 
shore.  Baum's  companion  turned  to  the  other  side,  where  there 
were  a  few  scattered  farm-houses  and  fishermen's  huts.  Man 
and  beast  were  worn  out  and  needed  rest.  Baum  asked  every 
one  he  met  whether  they  had  seen  a  lady  in  a  blue  riding-habit 
and  wearing  a  hat  with  a  feather ;  but  he  could  find  no  trace  of 
her  anyvvhere. 

"  Stop  !  "  at  last  said  a  little  old  man  who  was  cutting  willows 
by  the  lake  :  "  I  've  seen  her." 

"Where?     When?" 

"  Over  there  in  the  tavern.  It 's  almost  a  year  ago  ;  she  lived 
there  a  good  many  weeks." 

Baum  cursed  the  peasant  folk  for  a  stupid  set. 

Fortunately,  he  met  a  gend'arme  and  told  him  who  he  was  and 
whom  he  was  looking  for.  He  then  sent  the  groom  back  to 
Wildenort  with  the  lady's  saddle.  Placing  his  own  saddle  on 
Pluto,  he  rode  along  the  edge  of  the  lake  with  the  gend'arme. 
On  a  rock  near  the  shore,  they  soon  saw  a  figure  holding  out  a  hat 
with  a  feather  on  it.  They  made  for  the  spot,  at  full  speed.  Baum 
recognized  his  brother  Thomas,  and  was  so  'startled  that  he  lost 
bis  stirrup. 

If  it  were  he  who  had  robbed  and  murdered  the  Countess  ! 

The  gend'arme  knew  the  wild  fellow.  Thomas  stared  and 
grinned  at  them  both.  His  hair  was  wet  and  his  clothes  were 
dripping. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  391 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  cried  the  gend'arme.  "Whose 
hat  is  that  ?  " 

"That's  none  of  your  business,"  replied  Thomas,  his  teeth 
chattering  with  the  cold. 

Baum  offered  the  shivering  man  his  brandy  flask,  and  Thomas 
took  a  long  draught.  Then,  with  mingled  rage  and  sorrow,  he 
told  them  that  the  king's  sweetheart  had  lost  her  way  the  night 
before  and  had  come  to  their  hut,  and  that  she  had  led  away  his 
sister  to  plunge  into  the  lake  with  her.  He  had  come  too  late  ;  he 
had  seen  something  floating  on  the  water  and  had  jumped  in  to 
save  her,  but  the  hat  was  all  he  had  found. 

The  gend'arme  was  not  inclined  to  believe  Thomas's  story  and 
would  have  arrested  him  forthwith,  if  Baum  had  not  whispered  to 
him  that  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  lady  had  drowned  herself, 
and  that  there  was  no  murder  in  the  case.  He  was  moved  by  a 
feeling  akin  to  pity  for  his  brother,  and  did  not  wish  to  have  him 
arrested. 

"  Come  here  !  "  said  Baum  to  Thomas.  "  Let 's  make  an  ex- 
change. I  '11  give  you  my  flask — there  's  a  good  deal  in  it  yet — 
for  the  hat." 

"  Oh  no !  I  know  who  the  hat  belongs  to :  it 's  worth  a  lot, 
and  I  '11  take  it  to  the  king." 

He  still  has  got  his  sweetheart's  hat, 

Though  she  lies  in  the  lake ; 
And  since  she 's  drowned,  another  love 

Right  gladly  will  he  take. 

Sang  Thomas,  with  heavy  voice,  while  he  threw  the  hat  up  irto 
the  air  and  caught  it  again. 

The  gend'arme  wanted  to  give  Thomas  a  beating ;  Baum  re- 
strained him,  however,  and  then  walked  up  to  Thomas  and  plat  ed 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Thomas  started,  but  suddenly  grew 
quiet  and  looked  at  Baum  as  if  afraid  of  him.  Baum  spoke  to  him 
with  a  condescending  air,  and  Thomas  listened,  with  mouth  agape, 
as  if  trying  to  recollect  something,  he  knew  not  what.  The  voice, 
and  the  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  made  quite  another  man  of  him, 
and  the  savage,  murderous  fellow  wept. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  hat  for  a  gold  piece,  or  must  it  be  taken 
from  you  by  force  ?  You  see  we  're  two  to  one,  and  can  master 
you,"  said  Baum. 

Without  saying  a  word,  Thomas  handed  him  the  hat,  and  when 
Baum  gave  him  the  gold  piece,  Thomas  could  not  close  his  hand 
on  it.  As  if  quite  bewildered,  he  looked  now  at  the  geld  piece, 
now  at  the  giver. 

Baum  spoke  to  him  earnestly,  and  told  him  that  he  ought  to  give 
some  of  the  money  to  his  mother,  if  he  still  had  one. 

"A  mother?"  stammered  Thomas,  looking  at  Baum  with  a 


392  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

glassy  eye.  "A  mother!"  he  repeated,  as  if  reminded  of  some- 
thing- long  forgotten. 

The  gend'arme  was  touched  by  the  lackey's  generosity.  "He 
must  he  a  very  fine  man,"  thought  he. 

Thomas  again  told  them  that  Irma  had  been  at  their  hut  the 
night  before,  and  that  his  mother  knew  more  about  her  than  he  did, 
for  she  had  been  alone  with  her.  Baum  and  the  gend'arme  said 
they  would  like  to  talk  with  his  mother,  and  Thomas  guided  them 
to  the  hut. 

On  the  way  there,  the  gend'arme  informed  Baum  of  Thomas's 
family  history.  "  You  see,  the  fellow  's  a  brawler  and  has  often  been 
convicted  of  poaching.  I  've  often  advised  him  to  emigrate  to 
America,  for  there  he  can  hunt  as  much  as  he  pleases.  He  has  a 
brother  in  America — a  twin  brother,  but  he  must  be  a  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  ;  that  is,  if  he  is  n't  dead.  He  's  never  yet  written 
a  line  to  his  mother  or  his  brother,  and  has  never  sent  home  as 
much  as  you  could  put  in  your  eye.  But  that 's  the  way  they  all 
become,  after  they  get  to  America.  A  good  many  have  gone  there 
from  my  place,  but  they  're  all  selfish,  good-for-nothing  fellows." 

Baum  smiled.  He  had  need  of  all  his  self-command.  He 
scarcely  spoke  a  word,  for  he  was  nerving  himself  for  the  meeting 
with  his  mother,  and  felt  annoyed  that  she,  too,  was  mixed  up  in 
this  affair.  He  had  enough  to  think  of  without  that. 

The  gend'arme  knew  many  stories  about  poachers  and  other  out- 
laws and,  in  order  to  beguile  the  time  and  entertain  Baum,  re- 
counted some  of  them.  Such  stories,  however,  have  one  unpleasant 
feature.  It  is  rather  uncomfortable  to  listen  to  them,  unless  one's 
hands  are  free  from  guilt.  Baum  nodded  to  him  graciously,  for  it 
would  not  do,  by  look  or  manner,  to  betray  that  he  was  in  the  least 
related  to  the  abandoned  wretch  who  was  walking  ahead  of  them. 
The  gend'arme  said  that  he  had  once  been  bitten  in  the  finger  by 
a  murderer  whom  he  had  helped  to  arrest,  and  he  showed  Baurn 
the  scar. 

Baum,  at  last,  endeavored  to  put  an  end  to  these  terrible  stories. 
He  asked  the  gend'arme  what  regiment  he  had  served  in,  and  put  the 
question  as  graciously  as  if  he  were  about  to  draw  a  medal  from 
his  pocket  and  bestow  it  on  the  man.  Now  nothing  can  be  pleas- 
anter  than  to  recount  one's  military  experiences.  The  forester  tcld 
of  his  many  exploits,  laughing  heartily  at  his  own  stories,  and 
Baum,  seeing  no  help  for  it,  joined  in  the  laughter.  Thomas,  who 
was  walking  on  before,  turned  around  and  grinned,  and  then  went 
on.  They  reached  the  hut.  It  was  empty.  Old  Zenza  had  dis- 
appeared. 

"She  's  looking  for  Esther,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Thomas. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  Black  Esther?  "  asked  the  gend'arme. 

"  Black  Esther  !  "  repeated  Thomas  ;  "  Ha  !  ha  !  the  lake  '11 
wash  her  white  now.  If  any  one  would  pay  me  well  for  it,  I  'd 
jump  in,  too." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  393 

He  threw  himself  on  the  sack  of  leaves,  and  silently  looked 
at  the  hands  with  which  he  had  beaten  Esther  last  night.  Then 
he  threw  his  head  back  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  and  they  could 
not  get  a  word  out  of  him.  Baum  and  the  gend'arme  rode  away, 
intending  to  return  to  the  lake,  in  order  to  pursue  their  enquiries, 
and  to  leave  directions  everywhere  that  the  search  should  be  kept 
up.  Emerging  from  the  forest,  they  gained  the  highway,  and 
here  it  was  that  they  had  met  the  covered  wagon. 

They  were  again  riding  along  the  lake  at  a  quiet  pace.  A  large 
rod  cow  was  walking  along  ahead  of  them.  It  stopped  now  and 
then  to  nibble  the  grass  and  would  look  across  the  lake.  When  it 
came  to  a  thicket,  it  started,  turned  about  quickly  and  ran  so  fast 
that  it  almost  rushed  against  Baum's  horse. 

"  That  cow  has  shied  at  something.  There  must  be  something 
lying  there,"  said  Baum,  quickly  alighting.  His  dyed  hair  rose  on 
end,  for  he  felt  sure  that  they  would  rind  Irma's  dead  body  the  next 
moment.  And  he  really  did  find  something ;  for  there  lay  Irma's 
torn  shoes.  He  knew  them.  There  were  blood  stains,  too,  and 
the  grass  was  crushed,  as  if  a  human  being  had  lain  there  and 
rolled  about  in  pain. 

Baum's  hand  trembled  as  he  took  up  the  shoes,  and  he  trembled 
still  more  when  he  plucked  a  little  flower.  It  was  a  simple  leaf 
cup — the  so-called  "our-lady's-mantie,"  the  best  mountain  fodder 
— and  in  this  little  flower  there  were  drops  of  blood  which  were 
still  moist. 

If  she  had  drowned  herself,  how  had  the  blood  got  there  ?  and 
whence  the  shoes  ?  and  why  should  the  shoes  be  so  far  from  where 
Thomas  had  found  the  hat  ?  and  besides,  there  were  the  footprints 
of  larger  shoes.  If  Irma  had  been  murdered,  after  all !  If  his 
brother — 

"She's  dead — that's  the  main  point,"  said  Baum,  consoling 
himself,  "  and  I  have  the  proofs.  What  good  would  it  do  to  draw 
another  being  into  trouble  ?"  He  put  the  little  blood-besprinkled 
plant  away  with  the  letter  addressed  "To  my  friend." 

Accompanied  by  the  gend'arme,  he  went  to  the  inn  at  the  land- 
ing place  where  the  wanderers  had  halted  that  morning. 

The  gend'arme  again  enquired  about  the  lady  in  the  blue  riding 
Siabit. 

The  manner  of  the  hostess  showed  that  the  gend'arme's  question 
had  set  her  thinking.  Could  it  have  been  the  crazy  woman  who 
was  with  the  travelers  ?  There  had  been  so  much  running  hither 
and  thither,  and  carrying  of  bundles  of  clothes,  and  she  had  had 
such  a  queer  look  about  her. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  "  said  the  gend'arme,  looking 
her  straight  in  the  face,  "  speak  out !  " 

"  I  do  n't  know  a  thing,"  said  the  hostess.     "  Did  I  say  a  word  ? 
What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 
17* 


394  O.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

There  is  nothing  which  the  country  people  dread  so  much  as  be- 
ing called  into  court  in  order  to  bear  witness,  and  so  the  hostess 
was  careful  not  to  utter  a  single  word  that  might  lead  to  such  a 
result. 

Baum  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  taking  the  gen- 
d'arrne  with  him,  for  his  presence  alarmed  those  who  might  really 
have  something  to  tell.  He,  therefore,  sent  him  off,  so  that  he 
might  make  further  enquiries  on  his  own  account. 

Baum  stood  before  a  looking-glass,  combing  and  brushing  his 
dyed  hair  which,  that  day,  was  unusually  refractory.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  was  perfectly  modest.  He  admitted,  to  himself, 
that,  after  all,  he  was  not  the  right  man  to  follow  up  such  an  affair, 
and  that  he  had  wasted  too  much  time  already.  Others  would  be 
before  him  in  profiting  by  whatever  advantage  \vas  to  be  gained 
from  Irma's  death.  He  felt  that  he  had  better  hurry  back  to  the 
palace,  and  that  there  were  others  there,  enough  of  them,  too,  who 
could  work  up  such  a  case  far  better  than  he. 

He  endeavored  to  sound  the  hostess  who,  he  still  thought,  knew 
something  of  the  affair.  But  he  was  unsuccessful,  for  she  had  not 
forgotten  his  comrade,  the  gend'arme,  nor  did  it  help  in  the  least, 
when  he  pointed  to  his  buttons  and  informed  her  that  he  was  the 
king's  lackey, 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  Walpurga  lived  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. It  was  scarcely  a  year  since  he  had  been  here  writh  Doc- 
tor Sixtus.  Irma  had  always  been  a  friend  of  Walpurga's,  and 
perhaps  was  now  hiding  with  her — such  high-flown  people  were 
capable  of  anything. 

The  large  boat  still  lay  before  the  inn.  Baum,  taking  his  horse 
with  him,  went  on  board  and  ordered  them  to  put  off  at  once.  He 
permitted  a  laborer  who  arrived  with  a  great  barrowT-load  of  hay, 
which  he  had  gathered  on  the  most  dangerous  crags,  to  cross  in 
the  same  boat  with  him.  They  put  off.  Baum  lay  down  on  the 
wild  hay,  feeling  completely  \vorri  out. 

He  asked  the  boatmen  whether  they  had  seen  anything  of  a 
drowned  person.  They  answered  that,  in  the  moaning,  a  human 
head  with  long  hair  had  been  seen  rising  to  the  surface,  and  that, 
in  all  likelihood,  it  was  a  woman. 

Baum  suddenly  drew  himself  up  and,  with  a  bewildered  look, 
gazed  over  the  sparkling  surface  of  the  lake.  "  If  the  gentleman 
would  like  to  wait,"  said  the  elder  boatman  to  Baum,  "the  lake 
will  give  up  its  dead  at  the  end  of  three  days."  Baum  did  not 
care  to  hear  any  more ;  he  merely  felt  in  his  pocket,  to  make  sure 
that  he  still  possessed  the  letter  and  the  blood-stained  flower. 
Having  satisfied  himself  on  this  point,  he  stretched  himself  still 
more  comfortably  than  before  and  fell  asleep.  It  w^as  not  until 
the  boat  stiuck  against  the  shore  that  he  awoke. 

There  was  no  longer  any  need  of  hunting  up  Walpurga;  but  he 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  393 

did  so,  nevertheless,  in  order  to  show  that  he  had  left  nothing  un- 
done. He  went  up  to  the  cottage  by  the  lake  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  There  was  no  answer.  He  looked  in  at  the  window.  Two 
large  cat's  eyes  were  staring  at  him.  The  cat  was  sitting  on  the 
ledge.  She  was  the  only  one  who  had  remained  behind.  The 
room  was  completely  dismantled  ;  not  a  table  or  even  a  chair  was 
to  be  seen.  As  if  in  a  dream,  or  under  the  influence  of  a  magic 
spell,  he  walked  back  again  through  the  garden. 

A  chattering  magpie  sat  up  in  the  leafless  cherry  tree  ;  but  not  a 
human  being  was  visible.  At  last  a  man  passed  by.  Baum  re- 
cognized him  ;  it  was  tailor  Schneck. 

"Say!"  he  called  out,  "what's  become  of  Hansei  and  Wal- 
purga?" 

"  They  're  gone  over  the  mountains.  They  Ve  moved  away  and 
bought  a  great  farm.  They  call  it  the  freehold  ;  it 's  way  down 
by  the  frontier." 

Tailor  Schneck  was  in  a  talkative  mood,  and  enquired  whether 
the  gentleman  had  brought  anything  from  the  king  and  queen. 
But  Baum  was  sparing  of  his  words.  He  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  off  in  the  direction  of  the  summer  palace. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hurry  and  excitement,  he  had  retained 
enough  composure  to  calculate  how  this  event  might  serve  as  a 
springing-board  from  which  he  could  bound  into  a  higher  position. 
Henceforth,  he  would  be  the  king's  confidant.  He  alone  knew 
what  had  happened  and  how  it  had  all  come  about.  He  looked  at 
the  hand  which  the  king  would  press  in  gratitude,  and  felt  as  if 
the  king  had  done  so  already.  The  head  chamberlain  was  old  and 
decrepit ;  he  would  surely  step  into  his  place.  It  would  have  been 
better,  of  course,  if  he  could  have  reported  that  Irma  had  been 
murdered — the  gend'arme,  like  a  sleuth  hound,  had  found  a 
clue —  But  no  ;  that  would  n't  do  ;  it  was  his  brother,  after  all — 
although  it  might  be  better  for  him  if  he  were  obliged  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  days  behind  the  prison  bars.  He  resolved  that  he 
would  be  very  good  to  his  mother  and  brother — that  is,  after  he 
had  become  head  chamberlain.  His  sister  was  dead, — and  it  was 
a  great  pity,  too — but  he  would  surely  do  this,  if  he  got  on  and  if 
the  king  should  give  him  lots  of  money  and  a  good  life  annuity. 
Baum  was  bold  enough,  to  tell  God  that  he  ought  to  aid  him  in 
obtaining  what  he  wanted,  as  he  meant  to  do  good  with  it. 

As  he  rode  on  through  the  darkness,  he  would  sometimes  catch 
himself  falling  asleep,  for  it  was  the  second  night  he  had  spent  in 
such  unrest — his  thoughts  were  confused  and  bewildered. 

At  the  last  post-house,  he  left  his  horse  and  took  a  post-chaise. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning,  when  the  carriage  arrived  at  the 
summer  palace.  They  found  it  difficult  to  arouse  Baum,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  he  was  fully  awake  and  could  recollect  where  he 
was  and  what  he  had  brought  with  him. 


396  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Various  court  carriages  were  in  waiting,  and  fine  saddle-horses 
were  being  led  from  the  stables.  Baum  scarcely  heard  the  saluta- 
tions of  his  comrades  and  the  grooms.  He  entered  the  palace  and 
ascended  the  staircase.  He  was  so  completely  worn  out  that  he 
felt  as  if  his  knees  would  sink  under  him.  He  entered  the  king's 
ante-chamber.  The  old  head  chamberlain  hastily  took  the  pinch 
of  snuff  which  he  had  been  holding  between  his  fingers,  and  of- 
fered his  hand  to  Baum.  Baum  sank  into  a  chair,  and  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  forthwith  announced  to  his  majesty. 

"  I  can't  yet.     You  must  wait,"  replied  the  head  chamberlain. 

It  was  only  by  a  violent  effort  that  Baum  was  enabled  to  keep 
his  seat  and  prevent  himself  from  falling  asleep. 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE  King  was  in  his  cabinet  at  an  early  hour.  He  avoided  all 
enervating  self-indulgence,  and  his  powers  of  endurance  sur- 
passed those  of  any  other  member  of  the  court.  It  was  his  cus- 
tom to  take  a  cold  bath  every  morning,  all  the  year  round,  and  this 
always  gave  him  new  life  and  strength.  He  knew  nothing  of 
deshabille,  and  always  left  his  bath-room  fully  dressed  for  the 
day. 

There  was  to  be  a  hunt  that  day,  and  the  king  was  in  hunting 
costume.  He  had  repaired  to  the  cabinet,  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
patching various  matters  of  business  that  required  his  imme- 
diate attention. 

His  office  was  situated  in  the  central  building,  in  the  so-called 
Elector's  Tower.  It  was  a  large,  lofty  apartment,  and  comfortable 
withal.  Its  walls  were  covered  with  a  sort  of  handy-volume  li- 
brary, military  maps  and  various  favorite  specimens  of  plastic  art, 
mostly  antiques,  of  which  he  had  procured  copies  while  yet  a 
prince.  There  was  also  a  letter-weight,  formed  of  balls  from  the 
battle  field  of  Leipsic.  The  oaken  furniture  was  in  the  Renais- 
sance style — the  large  writing  table  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  A  water-color  picture,  representing  the  queen  as  a  bride, 
hung  on  his  right. 

The  king  entered  and  touched  the  bell  which  stood  on  the  writ- 
ing table  ;  the  privy  councilor  presented  himself. 

He  handed  several  papers  to  the  king,  who  hurriedly  read  and 
signed  them.  The  councilor  presented  a  report  in  regard  to  the 
household  ministry.  The  king,  meanwhile,  walked  up  and  down 
the  room.  Suddenly,  he  exclaimed  * 

"What  's  that?"' 

From  the  adjoining  room,  he  had  heard  sounds  as  of  moving 
and  lifting,  and  also  scraping  footsteps,  just  as  if  a  coffin  were  be- 
ing borne  away.  He  touched  the  bell.  In  an  instant,  the  door 
opened  and  the  head  chamberlain  appeared. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  397 

"  What  insufferable  noise  is  that  in  the  gallery  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty  ordered  the  large  picture  to  be  removed." 

The  king  remembered  having  given  the  order  the  day  before. 

Although  he  had,  for  a  long  while,  been  accustomed  to  seeing 
tne  picture  in  that  place,  it  had  yesterday  suddenly  become  repug- 
nant to  him.  The  painting  represented  Belshazzar  seated  on  his 
throne  and  surrounded  by  his  creatures,  while  a  hand  issuing  from 
the  clouds  is  writing  "  Mene  Tekel "  on  the  wall.  The  figures 
were  all  in  life  size.  The  king  had  given  directions  that  the  picture 
should  be  removed  to  the  public  gallery. 

"I  am  awkwardly  served,"  said  the  king,  impatiently.  "It 
would  have  been  time  to  do  that  while  I  was  at  the  hunt." 

The  head  chamberlain  trembled  when  he  heard  these  words. 
His  hands  dropped,  and  his  head  bent  as  if  with  shame.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  he  dragged  himself  out  through  the  opposite 
door.  Instant  silence  ensued.  Noiselessly,  the  painting  was  placed 
on  the  floor  and  the  servants  retired. 

The  chamberlain  came  around,  from  the  other  side,  into  the 
ante-room.  He  sat  down  in  an  armchair  and  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff  between  his  fingers,  but  was  so  absorbed  in  thought  that  he 
forgot  to  use  it  until  the  very  moment  when  Baum  entered  the 
room. 

He  sat  opposite  Baum.  All  was  silent.  Now  and  then  he 
would  shake  his  head  mournfully  and  look  at  his  large  armchair. 
"Yes,  he  '11  soon  be  sitting  here,  and  I  '11  be  dismissed,"  thought 
he.  When  the  privy  councilor  passed  through  the  ante-chamber, 
the  old  chamberlain  forgot  to  bring  him  his  hat.  Baum  did  it  in 
his  stead,  for  Baum  was  fresh  again.  This  was  no  time  to  show 
signs  of  fatigue.  He  felt  that  he  held  the  winning  card,  and  that 
now  was  the  time  to  play  it. 

The  bell  in  the  cabinet  was  again  heard. 

"Is  there  any  one  else  in  the  ante-room  ?  "  enquired  the  king  of 
the  chamberlain. 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty ;  Baum  is  here." 

"Let  him  enter." 

Baum  felt  fully  conscious  of  his  importance.  The  king  had  not 
ordered  him  to  report  to  the  chamberlain,  but  had  said,  "  Let  him 
enter."  He  desired  to  confer  with  him  in  person.  The  confi- 
dential position  which  he  had  craved  was  already  his. 

Baum's  usually  grave  and  submissive  manner  seemed  more  im- 
pressive than  ever  before. 

"  Have  you  a  message  ?  "  asked  the  king. 

"No,  Your  Majestv." 

"  What  have  you  mere  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Baum,  placing  his  bundle  on  the  chair 
and  untying  it,  "  I  found  this  hat  of  Countess  von  Wildenort  in 
the  lake,  and  these  shoes  among  the  willows  on  the  shore." 


398  CIV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king  put  forth  his  hand,  as  if  to  grasp  these  tokens,  and 
then  drew  it  back  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart.  He  stared  at  Baum 
and  seemed  lost  in  surprise. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  he  asked,  raising  his  hand  to  his 
head,  as  if  to  smooth  down  his  hair  which  stood  on  end. 

"Your  Majesty,"  continued  Baum,  who  himself  trembled  when 
he  saw  the  king's  agitated  manner,  "  the  Countess  wore  these 
artich.-s  when  she  rode  out  with  me  and  ran  away." 

"Ran  away ?  and — " 

Baum  laid  his  hand  on  his  watch,  and,  although  he  could  not  see 
the  dial,  he  counted  the  seconds,  nevertheless ;  after  which,  he 
softly  answered  : 

"The  Countess  drowned  herself  in  the  lake  last  night — no,  it 
was  night  before  last.  The  boatman  saw  the  body  of  a  female 
rise  on  the  waters  and  sink  again  ;  and  to-morrow,  which  is  the 
third  day,  the  lake  will  give  her  up." 

The  king  motioned  him  to  stop — it  was  enough — his  hand 
trembled  ;  he  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  to  support  himself,  and 
stared  at  the  hat  and  shoes. 

Baum  dropped  his  eyes.  He  felt  that  the  king's  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  him,  but  he  still  kept  looking  on  the  floor  which  seemed  to  be 
rising  and  lifting  the  lackey  to  the  level  of  the  throne.  In  his 
mind's  eye,  he  already  beheld  himself  at  the  king's  side,  and  as  the 
confidant  of  royalty.  Baum  modestly  inclined  his  head  still  lower. 
He  heard  the  king  pacing  the  room,'  but  still  he  did  not  look  up. 
"A  downcast  air,"  thought  he,  "betokens  perfect  obedience  and 
unqualified  devotion."  The  king  now  stopped  before  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  suicide  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know.  If  it  is  Your  Majesty's  pleasure,  the  Countess 
was  dro\vned  by  others — " 

"My  pleasure?     I?     How?" 

"  I  humbly  beg  Your  Majesty's  permission — may  I  tell  all  ?  " 

"  You  must —  !" 

Summoning  all  his  strength,  Baum  now  said  : 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  found  the  shoes  myself,  but  I  got  the  hat  from 
a  man  who  is  fit  to  do  anything — the  gend'arme  thinks — that  it  may 
perhaps  be  good  for  the  man — he  might  be  pardoned  at  the  end  of 
a  year  and  sent  to  America — a  brother  of  his — is  said  to  be — 
there — 

"  You  speak  incoherently. 

Baum  regained  his  self-command. 

"  She  may  have  been  murdered  by  some  poacher.  The  worst 
of  it  all  is  that  she  sent  a  letter  to  her  majesty  the  queen." 

"  A  letter  to  the  queen!     Where  is  it  ?  Give  it  to  me  !  " 

"  I  haven't  it,  the  maid  snatched  it  from  me." 

The  king  sat  down. 

For  a  long  while,  not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the  rapid  ticking  of 
the  clock  that  stood  on  the  writing  table. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  399 

The  king  arose  from  his  seat  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 
Then  he  came  towards  Baum,  who  felt  as  if  the  hour  of  judgment 
had  come — as  if  his  life  hung  in  the  balance.  He  tried  to  loosen 
his  cravat;  it  seemed  too  tight  for  him.  He  almost  felt  as  if  a 
sword  were  passing  through  him. 

'  Do  you  know  what  was  in  the  letter  to  the  queen  ?  " 

•  No,  Your  Majesty." 

•  Was  it  sealed  ?  " 

'  Yes,  Your  Majesty." 

'  And  have  you  nothing  more  ?  " 

'  Yes,  Your  Majesty ;  I  was  almost  obliged  to  use  violence  to  get 
this  from  the  maid  ;  and  here,  Your  Majesty,  there  is  something 
more.  Beside  the  shoes,  there  was  a  pool  of  blood,  and  on  this 
little  plant  there  are  drops  of  her  blood." 

A  heart-rending  cry  of  pain  escaped  the  king ;  then,  taking  the 
letter  and  the  plant  with  him,  he  went  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Baum  remained  standing  there  waiting. 

In  the  next  room,  the  king  sat  reading,  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  She  loved  me  intensely.  She  was  great  and  beautiful,"  said 
he  to  himself,  with  pale  and  trembling  lips.  His  mind  was  filled 
with  thoughts  of  her  beauty,  her  voice,  her  gait,  and  all  her  varied 
charms.  And  were  they  all  now  dead  ? 

The  king  looked  at  his  hand  ;  the  hand  which  she  had  so  fondly 
kissed.  He  took  up  the  letter  again  and  once  more  read  the 
words :  "  To  my  friend."  He  knew  not  how  it  came  about,  but 
when  he  again  became  conscious  of  himself,  he  was  kneeling  by  the 
chair. 

What  was  to  come  next  ? 

He  remembered  Jhat  the  lackey  was  waiting  in  the  cabinet. 
The  king  felt  deeply  humbled  at  the  thought  of  his  being  obliged 
to  take  such  a  creature  into  his  confidence  ;  but  had  not  men  of  all 
kinds  long  known  of  his  crime  ?  They  knew  of  it,  but  were  silent. 
A  thousand  eyes  were  upon  him,  a  thousand  lips  were  speaking — 
and  all  were  telling  this  terrible  story.  The  king  looked  about  him, 
bewildered.  He  could  scarcely  rise.  And  among  the  many  thou- 
sands who  had  laid  their  hands  in  his,  and  who  looked  up  to  him, 
there  was  one —  Ah  !  how  heavily  her  hand  and  her  glance  now 
weighed  upon  him.  And  her  lips  ;  what  might  they  say  ? 

How  was  he  now  to  approach  the  queen  ?  If  she  only  knew  his 
deep  contrition,  she  would  fall  weeping  on  his  neck ;  for  she  was 
divine  goodness  itself.  And  yet  how  had  he  acted  towards  her ! 

He  was  on  the  point  of  sending  Irma's  last  words  to  the  queen. 
He  meant  to  add  some  words  expressive  of  his  contrition — to 
lay  bare  his  thoughts  and  feelings.  It  is  best,  thought  he  to  him- 
self, not  to  act  precipitately,  and  when  he  was  again  on  his  feet, 
the  consciousness  of  strength  returned.  One  must  be  able  to  fulfill 
the  most  difficult  duties,  even  that  of  repentance,  without  sacrificing 
dignity. 


400  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king  saw  himself  in  the  large  mirror.  He  had  forgotten 
that  he  was  in  hunting  costume  and  started  at  the  reflection  of 
himself,  as  though  it  were  a  stranger. 

His  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  inflamed.  He  had  shed  tears  for 
his  friend,  and  that  was  enough.  What,  with  some  natures,  re- 
quires months  or  years,  great  minds  achieve  in  a  few  moments. 
Their  years  had  become  as  ages.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
words  :  "  The  kiss  of  eternity,"  were  being  wafted  towards  him  on 
the  air,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  memories  of  that  day  in  the 
atelier,  of  the  ball,  and — 

"  It  was  given  to  thee  to  live  the  highest  life  and  then  die ;  to 
force  death  to  do  your  bidding.  But  I  cannot  do  so.  I  do  not  live 
for  myself  alone  ! "  said  he,  apostrophizing  his  friend,  and  feeling 
as  if  a  new  source  of  life  flowed  forth  from  the  depths  of  his  grief. 

"And  this  is  thy  work,"  said  an  inner  voice,  while  his  thoughts 
were  of  the  dead.  "  In  all  that 's  good,  your  spirit  will  ever  abide 
with  me.  Without  thee — I  would  confess  it  to  God,  were  I  now  to 
appear  before  him — I  should  never  have  discovered  the  deepest 
springs  of  my  being.  If  I  only  knew  of  some  deed  which  could 
serve  as  a  fit  memorial  of  thy  life." 

The  king  again  remembered  that  the  lackey  was  waiting  for  him. 
He  felt  annoyed  that  there  was  not  an  hour  he  could  call  his  own, 
in  which  to  calm  his  agitated  feelings  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  it  flashed  upon  him  :  He  who  commands  the  services  of  oth- 
ers, has  duties  to  them,  too.  They  lead  a  life  of  their  own,  extend- 
ing beyond  the  time  and  act  of  service. 

The  influence  of  Irma's  last  words  seemed  to  hover  over  his 
soul  like  a  mist. 

He  returned  to  his  cabinet.  Baum  was  still  standing  where  he 
had  left  him,  as  silent  and  as  quiet  as  if  he  were  a  chair  or  table. 

"  When  did  you  leave  there?  "  asked  the  king. 

Baum  told  him  all. 

"  You  must  be  fatigued,"  said  the  king. 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty." 

"Well  then,  take  a  rest.  Anything  else  you  may  know,  you 
must  tell  no  one  but  myself— do  you  understand  ?  " 

"Certainly,  Your  Majesty.     I  thank  you,  humbly." 

The  king  had  drawn  a  large  emerald  ring  from  his  finger,  and, 
while  he  turned  it  from  side  to  side,  the  bright  gem  sparkled  in  the 
sunlight. 

Baum  thought  that  the  king  was  about  to  bestow  the  ring  upon 
him  as  a  mark  of  his  favor,  but  his  majesty  put  the  ring  on  again, 
and  asked  :  "  Are  you  married  ?  " 

••  I  was,  Your  Majesty." 

"  Have  you  any  children  ?  " 

"An  only  son,  Your  Majesty." 

"  Very  well.  Hold  yourself  in  readiness  ;  I  shall  soon  have  fur- 
ther orders  for  you." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  401 

Baum  went  out.  While  hurrying  through  the  ante-room,  he 
graciously  addressed  the  chamberlain  with  :  "  Pray  do  n't  rise  !  " 
There  was  no  need  that  any  one  should  see  what  was  plainly  to 
be  read  in  every  line  of  his  face.  The  king  had  addressed  him 
familiarly,  and  had  even  enquired  about  his  family.  He  was,  at 
last,  the  confidant  of  royalty ;  the  highest  honors  now  awaited  him. 

He  went  to  nis  quarters  in  the  side  wing  of  the  palace. 

The  king  was  alone.  Naught  was  near  him  save  Irma's  hat 
and  shoes.  He  gazed  at  them  for  a  long  while.  What  a  poem  it 
would  make — to  bring  to  the  lover  the  shoes  and  the  hat  of  his  be- 
loved— what  a  song  it  would  be  to  sing  in  the  twilight.  Such  were 
his  thoughts  and  yet  his  brain  whirled.  With  trembling  hands,  he 
took  up  the  hat  and  shoes,  and  locked  up  the  tokens  of  death  in 
his  writing  desk. 

The  feather  on  the  hat  broKe  as  he  closed  the  door.  A  light 
was  burning  on  the  writing  table.  The  king  lit  a  cigar.  When  his 
eye  fell  on  the  water-color  portrait  of  the  queen,  he  started.  He 
went  on  smoking  violently. 

It  was  not  till  some  time  after  that,  that  the  king  rang  the  bell  and 
gave  directions  that  the  lord  steward  should  be  called,  but  that  no 
one  else  should  be  admitted. 

CHAPTER     III. 

WHEN  the  lord  steward  entered,  the  king  had  recovered  his 
self-command  and  had  settled  upon  the  course  he  should 
pursue. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  terrible  news  ?  " 

"  I  have,  Your  Majesty.  The  Countess's  maid  has  arrived  ;  her 
mistress  was  drowned  in  the  lake.". 

"And — ?"  asked  the  king,  when  he  found  the  lord  steward 
paused. 

"  And  it  is  also  said  that,  after  her  father's  death,  the  Countess 
neither  saw  nor  spoke  to  any  one.  But  she,  nevertheless,  wrote  a 
few  words  to  the  queen,  with  the  request  that  Doctor  Gunther  should 
deliver  them." 

"  And  was  it  done  without  previously  informing  me." 

The  lord  steward  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Very  well ;  I  know — "  continued  the  king.  "  Is  everything  in 
readiness  for  the  hunt  ?  " 

"At  Your  Majesty's  pleasure.  The  hunting  party  has  been 
•.raiting  for  an  hour." 

"  I  'm  coming,"  said  the  king.  "Send  Doctor  Sixtus  to  the  lake 
and  tell  him  to  take  Baum  with  him,  for  he  knows  all  about  the 
affair.  Let  him  also  take  the  notary  with  him,  and  tell  him  to  see 
that  the  body,  if  found,  be  suitably  interred.  I  know  that  you  will 
have  everything  properly  attended  to  ;  act  on  your  own  good  judg- 
ment in  the  matter." 


402  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king  laid  especial  stress  on  the  last  words.  Everything  was 
to  be  managed  discreetly ;  every  appearance  of  undue  interest,  on 
his  part,  was  to  be  avoided. 

The  king  knit  his  brows,  as  if  trying  to  think  of  something  he 
had  forgotten.  "  One  thing  more,"  added  he,  hastily.  "  Go  to  the 
poor  Countess's  brother,  and  break  the  news  to  him  as  gently 
as  you  can.  Should  he  desire  leave  of  absence,  you  may  inform 
him  that  it  is  granted  for  an  indefinite  time." 

The  king  passed  out  through  the  ante-room  and  down  the  stair- 
case. Rest  and  quiet  had  been  prescribed  for  the  queen,  and,  in 
order  to  avoid  arousing  her  early  in  the  morning,  he  had  bade  adieu 
to  her  the  night  before. 

The  hunting  party  assembled  in  the  palace-yard  greeted  the 
king,  who  graciously  returned  their  salutation.  In  an  instant, 
and  as  if  by  word  of  command,  the  covers  were  removed  from  the 
carriage-horses. 

"Colonel  Bronnen,"  exclaimed  the  king,  "come  sit  with  me." 

Bronnen  bowed  in  respectful  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment, 
and  stepped  up  to  the  king's  carriage.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
party,  amazed  at  the  honor  paid  the  colonel,  got  into  their  carriages. 
Bronnen  had  bowed  respectfully — for  the  highest  honor  of  the  day 
had  been  conferred  upon  him — but  there  was  a  struggle  within  his 
heart.  Had  the  king  the  faintest  idea  that  Bronnen  felt  himself 
the  avenger  of  old  Eberhard,  or  that  he  was  wrestling  with  himself 
as  to  whether  or  not  he  should  take  up  the  vendetta  ?  He  started 
when  he  involuntarily  touched  the  hanger  at  his  side.  Was  the  royal 
carriage  to  be  the  scene  of  a  tragedy,  such  as  history  had  never 
yet  known  ?  Had  Irma  vauntingly  told  the  king  that  he  was  a  re- 
jected suitor  for  her  hand  ?  and  was  he  now  to  receive  the  alms  of 
sympathy  ? 

The  party  drove  out  into  the  open  country.  The  king  was  silent 
for  a  long  time.  At  last,  he  said  : 

"  You  were  also  a  true  friend  of  hers.  There  were  few — in- 
deed, there  was  no  one — whom  she  honored  and  esteemed  as  she 
did  you.  Her  constant  wish  was  that  we  should  be  more  closely 
united." 

Bronnen  drew  a  long  breath.  -  There  was  no  occasion  for  his 
saying  anything.  The  king  offered  him  his  cigar  case. 

"Ah,  you  do  n't  smoke,"  he  said. 

There  was  another  long  pause,  which  was  at  last  broken  by  the 
king's  asking : 

"  How  long  had  you  known  Countess  Irma?  " 

"From  childhood.  She  was  the  friend  of  my  cousin  Emma, 
with  whom  she  was  at  the  convent." 

"  It  comforts  me  to  be  able  to  speak  to  you  of  our  friend.  You 
jnderstood  her  character.  It  was  great,  almost  supernaturally  so. 
Suffer  me  to  inherit  your  friendship  for  her." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  403 

"Your  Majesty — "  replied  Bronnen  with  constrained  composure  ; 
for  his  heart  was  boiling  with  indignation  at  the  man  who  had  cor- 
rupted this  noble  creature  and  had  driven  her  to  self-destruction. 
But  his  military  feeling  of  respect  for  his  superiors  held  him  in 
check. 

"  Ah,  dearest  Bronnen  !  "  continued  the  king,  "no  death  has  ever 
affected  me  so.  Did  she  ever  speak  to  you  of  death  ?  She  hated 
it.  And  yet,  when  I  look  about  me,  all  is  life.  When  a  great  heart 
ceases  to  beat,  the  whole  world  should  pause,  though  it  were  but 
for  a  moment.  What  are  we,  after  all  ?  " 

"Each  of  us  is  but  a  small,  limited  portion  of  the  world. 
Everything  about  us  has  its  due  sphere  of  development  and  right. 
We  are  masters  only  of  ourselves,  and  how  few  of  us  can  claim 
to  be  even  that !  " 

The  king  looked  at  Bronnen  in  surprise.  Every  one  has  a  sphere 
of  right —  What  could  he  have  meant  by  it  ?  Hastily  collecting 
himself,  the  king  replied :  "  She  might  have  used  the  very  same 
words.  I  can  easily  imagine  how  much  you  sympathized  with 
each  other.  If  I  understand  rightly,  you  regard  suicide  as  the 
greatest  of  crimes  ?  " 

"  If  that  which  is  most  unnatural  is,  therefore,  the  greatest  crime, 
I  certainly  do.  '  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature.'  I 
shall  never  forget  a  conversation  I  had  with  old  Count  Eberhard, 
last  winter,  upon  this  very  subject." 

"  Ah  yes,  you  knew  him.    Was  he  really  a  great  man  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  man  of  one  idea,  of  grand  one-sidedness.  But  per- 
haps this  is  a  necessary  condition  of  greatness." 

"  When  did  you  speak  with  Countess  Irma  for  the  last  time  ?  " 

"  After  her  father's  death,  when  she  had  shut  herself  up  in  im- 
penetrable darkness.  I  spoke  to  her,  but  could  not  see  her, 
although  she  extended  her  hand  to  me.  I  believe  that  I  am  the 
last  man  who  held  her  hand  in  his." 

"  Then  let  me  take  your  hand  in  mine  !  "  exclaimed  the  king. 

He  held  Bronnen's  hand  in  his  for  a  long  time,  until  the  latter 
said  : 

"Your  Majesty,  confession  for  confession. — I  loved  Irma  !  " 

He  spoke  in  a  curt  and  bitter  tone.  The  king  hastily  withdrew 
his  hand. 

"I  see,"  continued  Bronnen,  gathering  all  his  strength,  "that 
the  Countess  has  mentioned  nothing  of  my  suit.  I  thank  her, 
even  now,  for  this  proof  of  her  noble,  generous  heart.  Since  she 
could  not  honestly  return  my  love,  she  frankly  declined  it." 

"You?  my  dear  Bronnen  !  "  exclaimed  the  king,  in  a  tone  that 
betrayed  his  painful  agitation.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
happy  life  which,  as  the  wife  of  this  man,  Irma  might  have  led. 
"My  poor  friend  !  "  he  added,  in  a  voice  full  of  feeling. 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty,  I  have  a  right  to  mourn  with  you,  and  it 


404  0*Y  THE  HEIGHTS. 

seems  as  if  her  powerful,  all-embracing  mind  were  still  potent,  and 
had  caused  Your  Majesty  to  call  me  to  your  side." 

"  I  never  dreamt  of  such  a  thing.  If  I  had,  I  would  not  have 
inflicted  this  pain  upon  you." 

"And  I  thank  Your  Majesty  for  permitting  me  to  share  in  your 
grief.  Because  I  share  it  with  you,  I  am  able  to  comfort  you  ;  that 
is,  as  far  as  another  can.  Since  Your  Majesty  is  so  frank  with  me, 
I  must  needs  be  as  frank  in  return." 

The  king  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  Although  Bronnen  had 
opened  his  heart  to  him,  the  immediate  effect  upon  him  was  to  roi.se 
a  deep  feeling  of  jealousy.  He  could  not  brook  the  thought  that 
another  had  dared  to  cast  his  eye  upon  Irma ;  aye,  actually  to  woo 
her.  She  seemed  no  longer  entirely  his  own,  since  another  had 
stretched  out  his  hand  towards  her. 

Bronnen  waited  for  the  king's  answer.  He  could  not  understand 
what  his  silence  meant.  Had  the  king  repented  of  his  frankness  ? 
Did  it  offend  him  to  find  that  another  had  placed  himself  on  a 
level  with  him  and  answered  him  frankly  and  fearlessly  ?  The  con- 
sciousness of  royalty  trenches  upon  that  of  manhood,  and  perhaps 
it  never  happens  that  a  prince  thinks  of  himself  simply  as  a  human 
being.  Bronnen  felt  vexed  at  the  king's  silence  and  averted  looks. 
He  could  stand  it  no  longer  and,  at  last,  feeling  that,  at  such  a 
moment,  etiquette  could  safely  be  disregarded,  he  said  : 

"  I  think  that  few  men  are  great-minded  enough  to  keep  all 
knowledge  of  their  conquests  to  themselves." 

This  remark  had  a  double  meaning,  and  Bronnen  would  not 
have  been  surprised  if  the  king  had  turned  upon  him  with  a  crush- 
ing reply.  He  felt  defiant  and  yet  composed.  The  man  to  whom 
he  had  revealed  his  soul's  secret,  must  not  act  as  if  nothing  had 
happened  ;  he  must  answer  for  himself. 

The  king  still  remained  silent. 

"  Is  Your  Majesty  not  of  my  opinion  ?  "  asked  Bronnen,  trembling 
with  emotion. 

The  king  turned  towards  him. 

"You  are  my  friend.  I  thank  you,  and  when  we  reach  Wolfs- 
winkel,  you  shall  receive  the  highest  proof  of  my  confidence." 

"  There  is  something  more  which  I  think  I  ought  to  communicate 
to  Your  Majesty." 

"  Proceed." 

"  I  think  I  can  see  the  connection  between  certain  recent  events. 
During  the  late  election  for  deputies,  some  friends  of  mine  in  the 
Highlands  thought  of  me.  They  knew  of  my  sincere  devotion  to 
my  constitutional  king." 

The  king's  features  betrayed  the  faintest  expression  of  disgust, 
while  Bronnen  continued  calmly: 

"  I  informed  the  voters  that  I  would  never  accept  an  election 
tvhich  would  range  me  with  the  opposition.  Count  Eberhard  was, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  405 

therefore,  proposed  on  the  very  last  day,  and,  to  the  great  surprise 
of  all,  accepted  the  nomination.  In  order  to  cast  a  stigma  upon 
the  father,  the  friends  of  the  present  ministry — I  am  now  giving 
Your  Majesty  facts,  not  mere  opinions — were  not  above  introducing 
the  relation  between  Countess  Irmaand  yourself  into  the  canvass." 

The  king  threw  his  cigar  away,  and  quickly  said : 

"  Go  on  ;  tell  me  more  !  " 

"  Count  Eberhard  was  elected  in  spite  of  them.  While  I  was 
at  Wildenort,  to  attend  the  funeral,  I  was  informed  that  the  first 
intimation  he  had  received  of  his  daughter's  position  was  conveyed 
to  him  at  the  meeting  of  electors.  On  his  way  home,  he  received 
letters  which  affected  him  deeply.  Nay  more,  for  I  have  enquired 
into  the  matter.  I  found  this  piece  of  a  torn  letter  on  the  road, 
and  the  laborer  who  worked  there  told  me  that  the  Count  had  torn 
up  letters  at  the  time  mentioned." 

Bronnen  handed  him  a  paper  on  which  stood  the  words  :  "  Your 
daughter  has  fallen  into  disgrace,  and  yet  stands  in  high  grace  as 
the  king's  mistress." 

"  That  may  have  been  written  by  our  saintly  Hippocrates,"  mut- 
tered the  king  to  himself. 

"  I  beg  Your  Majesty's  pardon,  but  if  you  harbor  the  slightest 
suspicion  against  Doctor  Gunther,  you  do  him  injustice.  I  will 
stake  my  honor  for  him,  and  time  will  show  that  I  am  right." 

"Go  on!"  said  the  king,  impatiently.  He  felt  displeased  that 
Bronnen  could  read  his  very  thoughts,  as  it  were,  and  understand 
what  he  had  only  half  muttered  ;  and  that,  understanding  it,  he 
had  not,  as  in  duty  bound,  ignored  it.  He  was  only  to  hear  what 
was  directly  addressed  to  him. 

"  On  his  return  from  the  meeting,"  continued  Bronnen,  calmly, 
"Count  Eberhard  was  attacked  by  a  paralytic  stroke  which  de- 
prived him  of  the  power  of  speech.  During  his  last  moments, 
Countess  Irma  was  the  only  one  with  him.  She  was  heard  to  utter 
a  terrible  cry — when  they  entered  the  room,  she  lay  on  the  floor, 
and  Count  Eberhard  was  dead.  Who  knows  what  may  have 
happened  there  !  But,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  I  feel  sure  it 
was  the  cause  that  drove  her  to  this  terrible  resolve." 

"And  what  purpose  does  this  ingenious  combination  serve?" 
asked  the  king. 

Bronnen  looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"Its  only  purpose  is  to  aid  in  clearing  up  the  mystery." 

The  long  pause  which  followed  Bronnen's  remark  added  to  its 
impressiveness. 

"Yes,"  said  the  king,  resuming  the  conversation,  "how  much 
better  it  is  to  clear  up  all  things  !  That  was  just  her  own  way  of 
doing ;  so  natural,  and  yet  so  clear,  so  conscious,  and  yet  so  strong. 
Well,  be  it  so.  Bronnen,  why  should  I  conceal  it?  I  may  tell  you 
everything.  I  loved  the  Countess.  And  now — I  must  say  it,  foi 


406  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  thought  tortures  me — I  am  almost  angry  at  her.  Her  suicide 
has  imposed  a  heavy  life-burden  upon  me.  I  shall  never,  to  the 
end  of  my  days,  be  able  to  lay  it  aside.  She  must  have  known 
how  it  would  weigh  me  down.  Tell  me,  frankly — I  beg  of  you, 
tell  me — is  this  feeling  not  a  justifiable  one?  " 

"I  am  not  addressing  the  king,  now.  I  am  speaking  to  the 
clear-headed,  warm-hearted  man." 

Bronnen  paused.  It  shocked  the  king  to  find  himself  thus  di- 
vested of  his  inborn  dignity.  What  would  this  stern  man,  whom 
he  had  ordered  to  forget  his  rank,  say  ? 

"  Speak  on  !  "  said  the  king,  encouragingly. 

"  Then  I  shall  speak  frankly,"  began  Bronnen,  "as  between  man 
and  man.  When  you  reproach  yourself  for  feeling  that  your  friend 
has  aggrieved  you  in  imposing  this  life-burden  upon  you,  it  is 
simply  a  proof  that  your  true  self  has  been  deeply  affected.  What 
really  torments  you,  however,  is  the  ghost  of  your  own  act.  Al- 
though our  friend,  who  deserved  so  well  of  fate,  may,  in  a  fine 
frenzy,  have  willingly  sacrificed  herself,  the  stern  truth  still  confronts 
you  :  you  invaded,  nay  destroyed,  her  sphere  of  right,  and  now  you 
reap  the  inevitable  consequence  of  what  was  then  begun.  The 
ghost  of  your  own  actions  disturbs  you  and  will  continue  to  do  so, 
until  you  perceive  the  truth.  Every  human  being  has  its  own 
rights,  presenting  a  barrier  which  no  one,  however  exalted  his 
position,  dare  invade.  When  you  fully  realize  this  in  yourself,  and 
by  your  knowledge  of  sin  have  overcome  sin,  then,  and  not  until 
then,  will  you  be  free — no  matter  what  may  have  gone  before. 
Superstition  uses  the  formula:  'All  good  spirits  praise  the  Lord,' 
with  which  to  exorcise  phantoms.  Our  good  spirit  is  that  inner 
perception  of  truth  to  which  we  appeal,  or  rather  to  whose  appeal 
we  give  utterance." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Bronnen's  face  glowed  with  excite- 
ment. The  king  was  chilly,  and  wrapped  himself  in  his  mantle. 
His  eyes  were  closed.  At  last  he  sat  up  and  said  : 

"  I  thank  her ;  she  has  given  me  a  friend,  a  true  man.  You  will 
remain  to  me." 

The  king's  voice  was  hoarse.  He  wrapped  his  mantle  yet  more 
closely  about  him,  lay  back  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  closed 
his  eyes.  Not  another  word  was  uttered  until  they  reached  the 
hunting-seat.  The  king  told  his  suite  that  he  felt  unwell  and 
would  not  take  part  in  the  hunt.  The  rest  of  the  party  plunged 
into  the  forest,  while  the  king  remained  alone  with  Bronnen. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

IT  was  after  breakfast.     The  queen,  attended  by  the  ladies  of 
the  court,  was  in  the  music-room. 

The  first  mist  of  early  autumn  obscured  the  landscape,  and  the 
morn  gave  promise  of  a  lovely,  bracing  day. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  407 

Various  journals  were  lying  before  the  queen.  She  pushed  them 
away,  saying : 

"  How  terrible  these  newspapers  are  !  What  license  !  This 
sheet  is  usually  so  unobjectionable ;  but  even  here  it  is  stated  that 
Count  Wildenort  died  of  grief  because  of  the  conduct  of  his  un- 
married daughter.  Can  such  things  be  permitted  ?  Was  such  a 
thing  ever  heard  of — ?  Ah,  dear  councilor  !  "  added  she,  address- 
ing her  private  secretary,  "there  is  a  sealed  letter  for  Countess 
Inna  on  my  desk  up  stairs.  Let  a  messenger  take  it  to  her  at 
once.  If  she  could  only  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  these  terrible 
newspaper  stories ;  I  hope  she  may,  at  all  events." 

The  ladies  of  the  court  were  engaged  with  their  embroidery. 
They  plied  their  needles  more  nimbly  than  before  and  did  not  look 
up  from  their  work. 

Countess  Brinkenstein  was  called  away.  After  some  time,  she 
returned,  accompanied  by  the  Doctor. 

"Ah,  welcome  !  "  cried  the  queen. 

At  a  sign  from  Countess  Brinkenstein,  the  ladies  retired. 

"How  charming!  you  've  come  just  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said 
the  queen.  "  I  am  just  about  to  send  off  a  letter  for  Countess 
Irma  ;  you  might  add  a  few  kind  words." 

"  Your  Majesty,  Countess  Irma  will  not  be  able  to  read  your  let- 
ter of  condolence."  » 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  Countess  is — very  ill." 

"  Very  ill  ?     You  say  it  in  such  a — not  dangerously,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so." 

"  Doctor  !  your  voice — what  is  it  ?     The  Countess  is  not — 

"Dead — !  "  said  the  Doctor,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  breathless  silence  in  the  great 
hall.  At  last  the  queen  exclaimed  : 

"  Dead  !     Was  it  grief  at  her  father's  death  ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded  affirmatively. 

The  flower-table  which  Irma  had  painted  stood  by  the  queen's 
side.  The  queen  looked  at  it  for  a  long  while.  At  last,  com- 
pletely forgetting  those  about  her — her  gaze  still  fixed  upon  the 
table  which,  now  that  she  was  weeping  bitterly,  was  wet  with  her 
tears — she  cried  out,  in  heart-rending  accents  : 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful  she  was  ;  how  radiant  her  eyes,  how  bright 
her  glance,  how  musical  her  voice  !  Her  singing  was  like  the 
warbling  of  the  lark  !  And  all. this  beauty,  all  this  love  and  good- 
ness is  no  more !  I  would  love,  to  see  her,  even  in  death.  She 
must  be  beautiful,  a  very  image  of  peace.  And  you  say  that  she 
died  of  grief  at  her  father's  death,  of  a  broken  heart  ?  Was  it  one 
great,  convulsive  throb  of  feeling  that  broke  her  ardent  noble 
heart?  Oh,  my  sister — for  I  loved  her  as  such — forgive  me  that 
even  the  shadow  of  doubt — Oh,  my  sister ! — the  lovely  flowers  on 


408  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

this  table  were  conjured  up  by  your  hand  —  And  you  are  faded, 
withered,  decayed  !  You  were  lovelier  than  any  flower  !  I  can  still 
see  your  eye,  as  it  followed  every  stroke  of  the  pencil.  You  meant 
to  give  me  undying  flowers,  and  as  an  undying  flower  you  shall 
dwell  in  my  heart." 

Her  tears  fell  on  the  'narble  flower-table.  A  little  dog  came  up 
to  her  and  she  said  : 

"  She  decked  you  too,  with  flowers.  It  was  on  my  birthday. 
She  sought  to  adorn  everything  that  met  her  eye.  And  you  loved 
her,  too,  poor  Zephyr ;  ever)'  creature  loved  her,  and  now  she  's 
dead."  She  wept  in  silence,  for  sometime. 

•'  May  I  wear  mourning  for  my  friend  ?  "  she  enquired,  looking 
up  at  Countess  Brinkenstein. 

"  Your  Majesty,  it  is  not  the  custom  for  the  queen  to  go  into 
mourning  alone." 

"  Of  course  ;  we  are  not  alone.  No,  never  !  All  must  moum 
with  us  ;  there  must  needs  be  a  mourning  livery." 

She  had  spoken  harshly,  and  now  offered  her  hand  to  Countess 
Brinkenstein,  as  if  in  apology,  and  enquired : 

"When  is  she  to  be  buried,  and  where  ?  I  should  like  to  lay  the 
most  beautiful  garland  upon  her  grave.  I  will  go  to  her  myself, 
and  my  tears  shall  drop  upon  her  pale  face.  So  fair  a  life,  and  so 
sudden  an,end  !  Can  it  be  possible  ?  I  must  go  to  her  !  " 

Her  eyes  seemed  fixed  on  vacancy,  while  she  asked : 

"  Has  the  king  gone  hunting  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty." 

"He,  too,  will  weep,  for  he  loved  her  as  if  she  were  his  sister. 
I  know  it." 

The  look  which  Countess  Brinkenstein  now  gave  the  Doctor 
seemed  to  say :  "  I  never  gave  the  queen  credit  for  so  much  tact 
and  self-command.  How  naturally  she  acts,  while  trying  to  make 
us  believe  that  she  never  knew  or  suspected  that  aught  was 
wrong." 

"I  will  go  to  her!"  suddenly  exclaimed  the  queen.  "No  one 
shall  prevent  it.  I  will  go  to  her  and  stand  by  her  coffin,  by  her 
grave." 

Countess  Brinkenstein  stared  at  the  queen. 

The  Doctor  approached  and  said  : 

"Your  Majesty  cannot  see  the  Countess.  Grief  for  her  father's 
death  affected  her  mind — " 

'  Then  she  's  aot  dead  ?  " 

'The  Countess  has  undoubtedly  drowned  herself  in  the  lake.' 

The  queen  cast  a  look  of  horror  at  the  Doctor.  She  attempted 
to  speak,  but  could  not.  Gunther  added  : 

"  She  has  not  left  us  without  a  farewell ;  she  left  a  letter,  which 
I  am  to  deliver  to  Your  Majesty.  It  must  surely  be  intended 
to  atone  for  the  frightful  tidings ;  even  in  her  last  moments,  she 
was  true  to  her  affectionate  nature." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  409 

The  queen  stared  at  Gunther,  vacantly.  She  tried  to  rise,  but 
could  not.  She  mutely  motioned  him  to  give  her  the  letter.  Gun- 
ther handed  it  to  her. 

The  queen  read  it  and  turned  pale  as  a  corpse.  Her  features 
grew  rigid  ;  her  hands  fell  to  her  side,  as  if  palsied  ;  her  eyes 
closed,  an  expression  as  of  death  lay  on  her  lips.  Presently,  she 
shook  as  if  in  a  chill,  and  then  her  face  became  flushed,  as  if 
burning.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  exclaimed  : 

"  No  !  no  !  Have  you  done  this  ?  Could  you  act  thus,  Irma  ? 
You—" 

She  fell  back  in  her  chair,  covered  her  face  with  both  hands,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  And  she  kissed  my  child,  and  he  kissed  it !  Oh,  they  kissed 
that  whiqh  was  purest  of  all,  well  knowing  how  impure  their  own 
lips  were.  They  talked  in  the  loftiest  strain,  and  yet  the  words  did 
not  cut  their  tongues  like  sharp  knives  !  Oh,  how  disgusting ! 
How  disgusting,  how  tainted  everything  seems  !  How  I  loathe 
myself!  And  he  dared  to  tell  me  that  a  prince  could  have  no  pri- 
vate actions,  for  his  deeds  are  an  example  to  others.  Shame ! 
shame  !  Everything  is  vile,  everything  is  despicable  !  Everything  !  " 

She  looked  around,  bewildered.  She  was  as  terrible  in  her  in- 
dignation, as  she  had  been  beautiful  in  her  grief. 

With  vacant  gaze,  she  regarded  every  object  that  had  once 
met  Irma's  eye,  and  when  her  glance  again  fell  upon  the  flower- 
table,  she  turned  away  with  a  convulsive  start,  as  if  serpents  had 
darted  from  the  flowers.  Again,  she  exclaimed  : 

"Oh,  how  loathsome!  Oh,  how  vile,  how  disgusting!  I  beg 
of  you,  leave  me  alone  !  May  I  not  be  alone  ?  " 

"  Let  me  remain  with  Your  Majesty,"  said  the  Doctor,  taking  her 
hand,  which  hung  as  if  lifeless  at  her  side. 

Countess  Brinkenstein  withdrew. 

For  a  long  while,  the  queen  did  not  speak  a  word.  She  seemed 
to  be  staring  at  vacancy,  breathed  heavily  and  would,  at  times, 
start  convulsively.  She  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  chill,  and  fell 
back  insensible. 

The  Doctor  bathed  her  forehead  and  wrists  with  a  few  drops  of 
some  restorative,  and  then  called  her  maid.  Accompanied  by  the 
latter,  he  conducted  the  queen  to  her  apartments,  and  ordered  that 
she  should  be  put  to  bed. 

"  I  shall  never  again  see  the  light  of  day,  nor  a  human  face  ;  and 
he — and  he  ! "  cried  she  ;  then  she  forced  her  lace  handkerchief 
into  her  mouth  and  tore  it  to  pieces  with  her  teeth. 

She  lay  thus  for  some  time,  the  Doctor  sitting  silently  by  her 
bedside. 

At  length  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  opened  her  eyes,  and  said : 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  would  like  to  sleep." 

18 


410  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Yes,  do  so,"  said  the  Doctor.  He  was  about  to  leave,  but  she 
called  to  him  : 

'  One  word  more.     Does  the  king  know —  ?  " 
'Yes,  Your  Majesty." 
'  And  he  went  to  the  hunt  ?  " 
'  He  is  king,  Your  Majesty." 

'  I  know,  I  know ! — Anything  to  avoid  creating  a  sensation. 
Yes,  yes." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  Your  Majesty,  do  n't  think  now.  Do  n't  worry 
about  anything.  Try  to  sleep." 

"We  can  give  ourselves  the  sleep  eternal,  but  not  temporal 
sleep." 

"  I  entreat  you,  Your  Majesty ;  do  n't  give  way  to  this  violent 
excitement ;  do  try  to  sleep." 

"  I  will,  I  will.  Good  night !  Give  me  a  sleeping  draught,  a 
drop  of  forgetfulness.  Poison  were  better  !  Good  night !  " 

The  Doctor  withdrew,  but,  by  a  faint  gesture,  signified  to  Ma- 
dame Leoni,  the  woman  in  waiting,  that  he  should  remain  in  the 
next  room. 

CHAPTER     V. 

IT  was  silent  and  lonely  at  the  hunting-seat  in  the  Highlands. 
The  walls  of  the  great  hall  were  hung  with  antlers ;  a  stuffed 
boar's  head  stared  from  over  the  entrance.  A  bright  fire  was 
burning  on  the  large  hearth,  for  here  among  the  mountains  it  was 
already  cold.  The  king  sat  before  the  fire,  staring  at  the  blazing 
embers.  The  flames,  intertwining,  would  leap  on  high,  like  so 
many  tongues  of  fire.  The  king  left  his  chair  several  times,  but 
soon  sat  down  again. 

Under  the  antlers,  hung  tablets  marking  the  year  and  date  of 
each  hunt.  A  long  line  of  ancestors  had  contributed  to  these 
proofs  of  victory.  If  all  the  guns  that  had  been  used  in  achieving 
these  triumphs  were  to  be  fired  off  at  the  same  moment ;  if,  in 
addition  to  this,  even*  horn  that  had  been  blown,  even"  dog  which 
had  barked  and  even-  creature  that  had  cheered,  were  to  find  voice, 
the  din  thus  produced  could  not  be  more  confusing  or  bewildering 
than  the  thoughts  which  jostled  each  other  in  the  head  that  now 
rested  upon  the  king's  hands. 

He  arose  from  his  seat  and  read  some  of  the  inscriptions  on  the 
wall.  He  could  boast  of  a  mighty  ancestry.  They  were  of  a  lusty 
and  powerful  race  and,  while  indulging  in  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase  and  the  social  board,  would  speedily  have  forgotten  an  ad- 
venture like  the  one  that  now  unnerved  him. 

Have  we  become  weaker,  pettier,  more  timid  ? 

The  king  seated  himself  again  and  gazed  at  the  fire.  He  wi.s 
ang.-}  with  himself,  and  yet  could  not  master  his  weakness. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  411 

We  are  not  like  the  men  of  the  olden  time,  with  their  rude  sim- 
plicity and  fearless  disregard  of  consequences.  Why  have  we  not 
inherited  the  strength  of  our  ancestors,  instead  of  mere  pride  in 
their  power  ? 

What  has  happened  ? 

Unfaithfulness  cannot  be  blotted  out,  nor  can  the  dead  be  called 
back  to  life. 

•  The  memory  of  the  days  passed  in  intoxicating  happiness  rose 
up  before  him,  as  if  to  say :  It  dare  not,  it  cannot  be. 

Has  she  a  right,  while  destroying  her  life,  to  destroy  mine,  tco  ? 
And  she  has  destroyed  it.  Her  death  will  ever  remain  an  insepa- 
rable part  of  myself.  I  bear  a  corpse  about  with  me.  The  guilt 
of  murder  dwells  within  my  heart ! 

He  suddenly  held  his  hands  before  the  fire,  for  they  were  cold. 
The  flames  burned  brightly,  but  they  did  not  warm  his  hands,  and 
his  heart  seemed  freezing. 

Is  Bronnen  right  in  refusing  to  see  anything  in  this  terrible  affair 
but  the  inevitable  results  of  my  actions  ? 

He  uttered  a  short  laugh,  for  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  the  world  would  present  a  wondrous  chaos  of  bloodshed  and 
murder,  if  every  similar  misstep  were  to  produce  a  like  result. 
How  many  thousands — 

A  few  words  uttered  on  a  lovely  morning  and  during  happy 
times,  floated  through  his  mind.  It  was  like  suddenly  recollecting 
a  long  forgotten  melody.  It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  year  ago, 
that  the  queen  had  said,  while  sitting  under  the  weeping  ash  : 
"He  who  commits  a  wrong  sins  for  himself,  and  as  deeply  as  if 
it  were  the  first  time  the  sin  were  ever  committed." 

Ah  !  why  is  it  that  our  actions  fall  so  far  short  of  our  ideal  ? 

The  king  was  still  gazing  into  the  fire.  The  image  of  his  wife, 
fading  from  his  mind,  was  replaced  by  that  of  the  friend,  whom,  in 
fancy,  he  followed  to  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 

He  hastily  arose,  opened  the  window,  inhaled  the  bracing  mount- 
ain air  and  looked  out  into  the  dark  night. 

There,  wrapped  in  slumber,  lies  the  world,  the  palace  with  its  rich 
and  varied  life,  your  wife,  your  child ;  and  beyond,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach,  the  rich  land  over  which  you  rule.  And  while  millions 
of  beings  cry  to  you  in  their  hour  of  need,  are  you  to  be  dragged 
down  by  one  mortal? 

The  king  turned  round,  with  the  intention  of  sending  for  Bronnen. 

It  is  not  well  to  give  one's  self  up  to  solitude  and  the  company 
of  evil  spirits. 

And  yet  he  hesitated.  From  out  of  the  darkness,  there  rose  a 
demon  with  a  thousand  glittering,  cunning  eyes.  He  had  known 
him  from  youth  and  his  name  was — distrust.  Who  knows  that 
this  gentleman,  with  his  high  sounding  phrases,  is  not  availing  him- 
self of  your  humility  and  the  tender  mood  which  has  unmanned 


412  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

you,  for  his  own  selfish  ends  ?  for  all  men  are  selfish,  especially 
when  dealing  with  royalty.  He  means  to  rule  me  and,  through 
me,  the  country.  Who  knows  whether  he  ever  loved  her  or  de- 
clared his  passion  to  her.  She  neither  could  nor  would  have  dared 
conceal  that  from  me.  The  story  was  a  ready  invention  of  his, 
intended  to  make  him  my  companion  in  grief.  But  I  know  no 
companion.  I  will  have  none.  If  I  cannot  do  all  by  myself,  I  am 
not  a  king ;  and  if  I  am  not  a  king,  what  am  I  ?  No,  my  wise 
and  noble-hearted  gentleman — 

An  inner  voice  admonished  him  that  it  was  wrong  to  judge 
Bronnen  as  he  judged  other  men,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  it. 
lie  drew  himself  up  as  if  conscious  of  his  power  ind  dignity. 
Suddenly,  a  sound  from  the  forest  broke  upon  his  ear.  It  was  the 
first  wild,  mournful  cry  of  the  stag.  The  huntsman  in  him  was 
now  aroused.  His  hand  quickly  sought  his  weapon,  but  the 
thought  vanished  with  the  swiftness  of  the  stag's  flight  through 
the  forest,  and  gave  way  to  another  that  raised  a  smile  on  the 
king's  countenance.  The  stag,  thought  he,  was  crying  to  him. 
Nature  knows  nothing  of  such  unfaithfulness  as  that  with  the 
thought  of  which  you  are  now  tormenting  yrourself.  The  laws  of 
nature  do  not  recognize  unfaithfulness  ;  it  is  simply  a  violent  and 
arbitrary  creation  of  man.  But  neither  does  nature's  law  recognize 
a  king,  or  the  right  of  any  creature  to  rule  others  of  the  same 
species.  But  it  is  not  nature  alone  that  directs  human  life.  There 
is  also  another  law  that  dwells  within  man.  At  the  birth  of  each 
beast,  the  law  of  its  life  seems  born  anew.  Man,  however,  inherits 
that  which  has  gone  before,  for  he  has  a,  history.  And,  a  king 
more  than  all  others — 

The  king  stood  there  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  Feeling  chilled 
again,  he  closed  the  window  and  sat  down  before  the  fire,  in  which 
the  embers  were  still  burning.  Although  he  found  it  irksome  to  be 
alone,  he  yet  forced  himself  to  remain  so. 

The  fire  was  still  flickering,  and  now  and  then  a  sharp  tongue 
ol  flame  would  dart  forth.  The  king's  hand  still  clasped  the  silver 
handle  of  the  tongs  long  after  the  fire  had  ceased  to  burn.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt  conscious  of  a  void  within  himself— 
a  void  which  could  not  be  filled.  What  could  it  be  ?  Hunting  or 
drilling,  jesting  or  commanding,  loving  or  ruling,  none  of  these 
filled  the  aching  void.  What  could  it  be?  this  constant  unrest, 
this  longing  for  something  that  was  yet  to  come. 

He  had  spent  a  happy  youth.  The  free  tone  at  his  father's  court 
had  not  affected  him.  He  had  lived  in  an  ideal  world.  He  was 
on  his  travels  and  far  away  from  home,  when  the  sudden  news  of 
his  father's  death  reached  him.  He  had  hardly  arrived  at  man's 
estate,  when  he  was  called  to  the  throne.  Others  might  test  their 
affections,  might  choose —  His  consort  had  been  selected  for  him 
— there  was  no  wooing ;  a  throne,  a  country,  a  wife  were  given  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  413 

him.  His  wife  was  graceful  and  pretty.  He  was  fond  of  her,  and 
she  loved  him  intensely.  Suddenly,  Irma  entered  their  circle,  and 
the  husband,  the  father,  the  king,  became  seized  with  ardent  love. 
And  now  she  was  dead,  destroyed  by  her  own  rash  deed. 

Is  it  still  possible  for  you  to  subordinate  yourself  to  the  law? 

You  have  submitted  to  it  reluctantly,  as  if  it  were  a  clog  and  a 
fetter ;  but  is  not  submission  to  the  law  the  highest,  aye,  the  only 
source  of  indestructible  power?  Yes,  there  is  an  eternal  law  that 
binds  you  to  your  wife  and  to  your  people ;  in  that  alone  dwells 
the  life  eternal. 

He  was  filled  with  the  thought.  It  was  like  a  deliverance  ;  like 
the  first  free  breathing  of  the  convalescent.  He  could  not  fully 
grasp  the  idea,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  must  cry  aloud ; 
I  am  free  !  free  and  yet  in  accord  with  the  law. 

He  rose  quickly.  He  meant  to  send  for  Bronnen,  but  restrained 
himself.  He  had  wrestled  with  himself  and  would  now  bear  this 
within  himself.  He  felt  as  if  the  aching  void,  the  restless  longing 
for  change,  had  suddenly  been  filled.  He  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
throbbing  heart. 

He  rang  the  bell  and  sent  word  to  Bronnen  that  he  might  retire. 
He  sent  his  body  servant  away  and  retired  to  his  room  alone. 

Bronnen  had  been  waiting  for  hours,  expecting  to  be  sent  for  at 
any  moment,  and  was  now  busy  conjecturing  why  this  had  not 
been  done. 

Could  Irma's  death  have  had  more  than  a  mere  passing  influ- 
ence upon  the  king,  or  had  it  really  helped  to  reconcile  him  with 
the  law  of  life  ?  What  proof  of  his  confidence  did  the  king  mean 
to  bestow  upon  him  ?  And  when  Bronnen  had  waited  for  hours, 
without  receiving  a  message  from  the  king,  he  could  not  repress  a 
feeling  of  resentment.  Who  could  tell  ?  Perhaps  the  king  had  for- 
gotten him  ?  He  had  joined  him  for  awhile  in  a  plaintive  duet ; 
but  now  all  was  over.  That  piece  had  been  played  and,  as  with  a 
concert  programme,  a  new  one  was  to  come. 

One  of  old  Eberhard's  sayings  occurred  to  him  :  "  When  you 
are  not  in  the  presence  of  royalty,"  were  the  old  man's  words, 
"  it  esteems  you  as  little  better  than  the  servants  who  wait  out  in 
the  vestibule,  or  on  the  steps,  with  warm  mantles  for  their  masters. 
They  go  on  playing,  dancing,  laughing  and  jesting ;  but  which  of 
them  stops  to  think  of  those  who  are  waiting  outside,  who  have 
aching  legs  and  are  overcome  with  sleep.  But,  nevertheless,  there 
you  must  be,  and  that  without  a  murmur." 

He  felt  a  touch  of  Eberhard's  deep  scorn.  He,  too,  was  a  serv- 
ant who,  while  waiting  in  the  ante-chamber,  had  been  forgotten  by 
his  master. 

When,  at  a  Lite  hour,  the  king  sent  him  word  that  he  might  re- 
tire, he  nodded  his  thanks.  He  has  remembered  you  after  all, 
thought  he  to  himself.  Many  thanks.  Of  course  they  would  be 
less  ashamed  of  a  companion  in  crime. 


414  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  mountains  were  still  covered  with  the  mists  of  morning, 
when  the  king  sent  for  Colonel  Bronnen. 

The  latter  entered  with  a  respectful  air.  The  king  advanced 
towards  him  and  said  : 

"Good  morning,  dear  Bronnen!"  His  voice  was  hoarse;  he 
looked  pale  and  unrefreshed.  He  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  the 
table  and  said  : 

"  There  is  the  proof  that  I  promised  you.     Read  it." 

Bronnen  read  it  and  looked  at  the  king  in  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  know  the  handwriting  ?  "  asked  the  king. 

"  I  do  not  recognize  the  handwriting,  but  the  great  mind  seems 
lamiliar.  I  believe — " 

"  You  are  right — they  are  the  last  words  that  our  lost  friend  left 
for  me." 

With  a  certain  air  of  solemnity,  Bronnen  again  placed  the  letter 
upon  the  table.  He  did  not  venture  to  say  a  wrord. 

"  Be  seated  ;  I  see  that  you  are  agitated." 

"  Certainly,  Your  Majesty  ;  but,  in  spite  of  everything,  these  lines 
only  confirm  my  presentiment." 

44  Your  presentiment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty ;  a  presentiment  that  Countess  Irma  is  not 
dead." 

"  Not  dead  ?  and  why  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say,  but  the  proofs  that  were  found  in  the 
lake  and  on  the  shore  serve  rather  to  confirm  than  refute  my 
theory.  They  are  too  complete — " 

"  You  loved  our  friend  ;  I  believe  it,"  said  the  king ;  "  but  you  did 
not  fully  understand  her.  Countess  Irma  was  incapable  of  deceit ; 
and  have  I  not  told  you  that  boatmen  saw  the  body  of  a  woman 
floating  in  the  lake  ?  " 

"Who  knows  what  they  may  have  seen?  Nothing  has  been 
found  as  yet." 

"On  what  do  you  base  your  presentiments  ?  " 

"  It  is  fully  consistent  with  my  exalted  opinion  of  that  great 
woman,  to  conceive  of  her  having  withdrawn  to  some  convent,  in 
order  to  leave  Your  Majesty  free.  Yea,  free  and  true." 

"Free  and  true,"  said  the  king,  repeating  the  words  to  himself. 
"  You  utter  words  which  seem  irreconcilable,  and  yet  they  must  be 
reconciled.  Bronnen,  you  mean  to  show  me  a  new  life-path,  and 
to  remove  the  corpse  that  obstructs  the  way,  so  that,  relieved  of 
my  burden,  I  may  pass  on.  But  I  have  strength  to  listen  to  the 
whole  truth,  and  to  decline  all  soothing  deceit." 

"Your  Majesty,  I  have  addressed  you  in  all  frankness  and  with 
an  utter  disregard  of  all  other  considerations." 

The  king  nodded  gently,  and  Bronnen  added  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  415 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  these  lines  are  the  utterance  of  a  great  soul, 
and  the  realization  of  these  thoughts  is  an  end  worth  dying  for. 
Now,  Your  Majesty,  the  weight  must  be  lifted  from  your  soul. 
Your  friend's  death  or  disappearance  has  not  imposed  a  burden 
upon  you  ;  it  has  liberated  you.  For  the  sake  of  our  country  and 
the  realization  of  the  highest  laws,  she  has  departed." 

"  Free  and  true,"  said  the  king  again,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  would 
like,  this  very  day,  to  change  the  legend  on  my  coat  of  arms  and 
replace  it  with  those  words.  But  I  will  prove — and  to  you  alone 
do  I  confess  it — I  will  prove  that  they  dwell  within  me  !  Yes,  my 
friend,  I  read  those  lines  many  a  time  during  the  night.  When 
they  first  appealed  to  me  yesterday,  I  did  not  understand  them  ;  but 
now  I  do.  Let  us,  as  long  as  we  live,  quietly  celebrate  the  mem- 
ory of  this  day.  You  uttered  an  expression  yesterday  that  startled, 
nay,  offended  me." 

"Your  Majesty!  " 

"  Calm  yourself.  You  see  we  are  friends.  I  promise  you  never 
again  to  allow  my  displeasure  to  last  over  night." 

"  What  expression  ?  " 

"  It  was  '  constitutional  king ' ;  and  while,  last  night,  I  read  this 
letter  again  and  again,  that  phrase  was  ever  between  the  lines. 
Can  one  be  a  sovereign  and  yet  subject  to  the  law  ?  Mark  me, 
Bronnen ;  if  I  were  in  the  presence  of  Eternal  God,  I  could  not 
open  my  heart  more  freely.  This  expression  of  yours  and  our 
friend's  appeal  aroused  me.  Can  I  remain  a  sovereign,  a  complete 
man  and  king,  and  at  the  same  time  be  fettered  ?  At  last  I 
understood  it.  She  says :  '  Be  one  with  the  law,  with  your  wife 
and  your  people.'  Is  there  free  love  in  marriage  ?  Can  there  be  a 
free  king  in  a  constitutional  government  ?  There  lies  the  difficulty. 
But  I  have  conquered  it.  Fidelity  is  love  awakened  to  itself.  The 
life  I  lead,  my  crown,  my  wife,  indeed  all  that  I  possess,  became 
mine  by  virtue  of  my  rank.  Last  night,  I  earned  the  right  to  call 
them  mine.  To  be  able,  in  all  moods,  to  hold  fast  to  what  has, 
heretofore,  only  been  the  result  of  impulse ;  to  infuse  new  life  into 
one's  actions,  and  to  feel  that  they  are  in  accord  with  one's  self — 
Ah,  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  spirits  I  wrestled  with  ;  but  I 
conquered  at  last.  'Free  and  true,'  is  my  motto  for  evermore." 

Bronnen  was  deeply  agitated,  and,  in  his  enthusiasm,  rushed 
towards  the  king. 

"  I  have  never  bent  the  knee  to  human  being,  but  now  I  should 
like  to — " 

"  No,  my  friend,"  cried  the  king.  "  Come  to  my  heart.  Let  us, 
holding  fast  to  one  another,  act  and  work  together.  I  will  prove 
that  a  king  can  act  freely,  and  that  his  freedom  and  his  friendship 
are  something  more  than  a  mere  fairy  ideal.  Yesterday,  I  felt  as 
if  you  were  my  father-confessor.  It  does  me  good  to  say  this.  I 
have  Come  to  know  that  the  man  whose  hand  and  heart  are  impure 


416  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

is  unfit  to  labor  for  the  highest  and  noblest  ends.  There  is  no 
greatness  which  is  not  based  on  true  morality,  and,  in  uttering  these 
words,  I  utter  a  verdict  upon  my  past  life.  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  to  you,  what  I  have  already  said  to  myself.  And  now 
let  us,  as  men,  consider  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

Bronnen 's  countenance  seemed  illumined  with  a  ray  of  purest 
joy. 

"A  bright,  unclouded  spirit  is  with  us." 

"  Let  her  memory  be  held  in  honor." 

"  I  do  not  mean  her,"  said  Bronnen.  "When  I  spoke  to  Count 
Eberhard,  he  said:  'Honor  pledges  us  to  morality;  fame,  still 
more  so ;  and  power,  most  of  all.'  " 

The  king  and  Bronnen  discussed  many  other  topics.  With  his 
friend,  the  king  could  frankly  and  unreservedly  show  the  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  him.  But  with  the  world,  the  court  and 
the  country  at  large,  it  behooved  him  to  avail  himself  of  more 
gradual  methods.  A  king  dare  not  publicly  repent. 

Bronnen  was,  in  secret,  appointed  prime  minister. 

They  remained  at  the  hunting-seat  and  joined  in  the  chase 
They  deemed  it  best  to  postpone  their  return  to  court  long  enough 
to  permit  certain  matters  to  settle  themselves  in  the  meanwhile. 

CHAPTER     VII. 

' '  T  T  IS  MAJESTY  desires  me  to  assure  you  of  his  sincere  sym- 
11  pathy,  and  to  say  that  if  you  wish  to  go  away  in  order  to 
arrange  your  family  affairs,  to  pursue  investigations  at  the  lake,  or  to 
divert  your  thoughts  by  travel,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  Leave 
of  absence,  for  an  indefinite  period,  will  be  sent  after  you." 

These  were  the  words  with  which  the  lord  steward,  who  had 
been  sent  to  inform  Bruno  of  his  sister's  death,  concluded  his 
message.  He  pressed  Bruno's  hand,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks 
and  left. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  doors,  the  lord  steward  fanned  himself 
with  his  pocket  handkerchief.  The  dread  task  which  had  fallen  to 
his  lot  had  greatly  agitated  him,  but  still  he  could  not  help  admit- 
ting that  Bruno  had  received  the  terrible  news  with  great  com- 
posure. 

While  the  lord  steward  remained  in  the  room,  Bruno  had  sat  on 
a  sofa  in  the  comer,  covering  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
listening  quietly  and  patiently  to  it  all,  as  if  it  were  the  news  of 
some  strange,  remote  event  that  in  no  way  affected  him. 

But  now  he  was  alone  again.  He  sat  silent  for  awhile,  uncon- 
sciously playing  with  a  scented  note  which  he  had  received  a  little 
while  before. 

Suddenly,  he  sprang  from  his  seat  as  if  crazed,  seized  a  chair  and 
broke  it.  This  seemed  to  do  him  good.  Then,  as  if  possessed  by 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  417 

a  demon,  he  threw  himself  on  the  floor  and  lay  there,  raving, 
writhing,  and  screaming  fearfully. 

The  servant  entered  and,  finding  his  master  lying  on  the  floor, 
lifted  him  up. 

"  I  'm  ill !  "  said  he.  "  No,  I  'm  not  ill !  I  won't  be  ill !  Go  at 
once  to  chamberlain  Von  Ross  or  to  intendant  Von  Schoning,  and 
request  one  of  those  gentlemen  to  come  to  me  directly.  If  my 
wife  enquires  for  me,  say  that  I  Ve  gone  out  with  the  master  of  the 
household." 

The  servant  went  away  and  Bruno  stood  at  the  window,  looking 
out  into  the  street.  The  mist  had  disappeared  and  now  revealed 
the  park  in  all  its  beauty.  The  gardener  was  removing  the  pots 
(hat  contained  faded  flowers,  and  replacing  them  with  fresh  ones. 
Arabella's  pet  greyhound  was  sitting  on  the  gravel  path  ;  it  looked 
up  at  its  master  and,  in  token  of  its  joy,  jumped  about  and  ran 
around  the  arbor. 

Although  Bruno  saw  it  all,  he  was  thinking  of  something  quite 
different. 

"  Ha  ha ! "  he  laughed,  "  I  never  thought  that  this  world  was 
anything  but  an  empty  farce.  He  who  frets  away  an  hour  is  a  fool. 
Now  I  am  quite  free,"  said  he,  drawing  himself  up,  "quite  free. 
Now  there  is  no  one  on  earth  for  whom  I  need  care.  World,  I  am 
free  and  alone !  And  now  for  seventy  years  to  come,  give  me  all 
thy  pleasures  !  Thou  can'st  not  harm  me  !  I  trample  everything 
under  foot ! " 

He  stopped  to  listen — but  no  one  came. 

Bruno  had  always  lived  in  society,  but  had  never  passed  any  time 
in  the  society  of  his  own  .thoughts.  Now,  when  he  was  lonely  and 
in  mourning,  they  came  to  him — neglected-looking  companions 
with  an  eager  air  and  merry  glances — and  cried  :  "  Leave  it  all ; 
come  with  us  !  Let  us  be  merry !  What  avails  your  grieving  ? 
You  will  be  old  before  your  time." 

He  stood  before  a  mirror,  and  they  said  to  him :  "See  how  hor- 
rible you  look." 

He  could  not  rid  himself  of  his  companions.  They  played  merry 
dances;  they  jingled  their  gold  and  cried:  "va  banque;"  they 
rattled  the  glasses  and  showed  him  voluptuous  and  seductive  forms, 
and  he  could  hear  rude  and  wanton  laughter.  They  filled  the 
room ;  they  seized  him  and  wanted  to  dance  about  with  him , 
but  he  stocd  firm,  clenching  his  fists  and  unable  to  go.  And  then 
they  ci  ied  to  him  :  "  We  know  you  !  You  are  a  silly  boy  and  care 
for  what  the  world  thinks.  You  have  no  courage  !  Cheer  up  ! 
Let  them  taunt  you,  but  be  merry,  nevertheless.  The  day  you 
lose  in  fretting,  no  one  can  ever  give  back  to  you.  Fie !  at 
this  begging  for  sympathy  !  Go  about  and  say :  '  I  'm  a  poor  man, 
my  father  's  dead  and  my  sister  drowned  herself.'  Get  some  one 
to  make  a  song  for  you,  and  another  to  paint  a  little  sign,  and 
1 8* 


418  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

wander  about  from  fair  to  fair,  asking  for  an  alms.  Fie  !  fie  !  You 
must  do  one  thing  or  the  other :  despise  the  world,  or  let  it  pity 
you.  Which  do  you  choose?  How  often  have  you  said:  'I 
despise  the  world  '—and  what  makes  you  afraid  ?  You  are  sitting 
there,  and  would  like  to  go  out ;  who  closes  the  door  ?  who  has 
tied  your  horses'  feet?  You  are  alone.  The  dear  friends,  the 
kind-hearted  beings,  the  sympathizing  souls,  will  come  and  say: 
'Be  tirm  ;  be  a  man;  conquer  your  grief!'  And  what  will  the 
dear  souls  do  for  you  ?  They  will  give  you  the  alms  of  sympathy 
and  then  leave  you  in  solitude,  while  they  go  their  way  in  search  of 
pleasure.  As  long  as  there  is  playing,  dancing,  drinking,  they  are 
true  and  enduring  friends ;  but  no  feast  will  be  put  off  for  your 
sake,  nothing  will  be  changed.  If  you  mean  to  enjoy  the  world 
you  must  despise  mankind.  They  merely  say  to  you  :  •  Be  a  man  ' 
--  but  be  one." 

His  thoughts  worked  him  into  a  frenzy.  The  next  few  days 
seemed  a  yawning  unfathomable  abyss  staring  him  in  the  face. 
All  was  empty,  void,  hollow,  joyless,  consuming  solitude. 

He  was  at  last  released,  for  the  servant  entered  and  announced 
the  intendant. 

They  had  not  been  great  friends,  but  now  Bruno  embraced  the 
intendant  as  if  he  were  the  only  friend  he  had  in  the  world,  and  lay 
on  his  neck  sobbing  and  begging  him  not  to  abandon  him  to  soli- 
tude. He  raged  and  raved  and,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  blas- 
phemy and  mocken-,  reviled  his  fate.  "  Oh  the  terrible  days  that 
await  me  !  "  he  exclaimed  vehemently. 

"  Time  heals  all  wounds,"  said  the  intendant. 

"  But  to  pass  weeks,  aye  months,  in  mourning ! "  cried  Bruno 
again. 

The  intendant  started.  He  had  received  an  insight  into  this 
man's  character.  What  grieved  him  most  was  the  long  period 
during  which  he  would  have  to  seem  to  be  in  mourning. 

It  could  not  have  happened  at  a  more  unfavorable  time. 

Bruno  had  entered  two  of  his  best  horses  for  the  races  which 
were  to  come  off  in  a  few  days.  He  had  intended  to  ride  Zuleika 
himself  in  a  trotting  match,  and,  for  the  great  hurdle  race,  he  had 
carefully  trained  Fitz,  his  groom.  The  name  was  really  Fritz,  but 
Fitz  sounded  better.  Fitz,  Baum's  son,  was  a  thorough  rascal,  in 
whom  his  father  took  great  pride.  His  future  was  assured,  for 
there  was  no  doubt  that  if  Fitz  did  not  break  his  limbs,  he  would 
be  the  first  jockey  in  the  stables.  He  sat  his  horse  like  a  cat,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  throw  him. 

The  weather  was  charming.  There  were  just  enough  clouds  to 
shield  one  from  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun,  and,  during  the  night, 
there  had  been  a  gentle  rain  which  had  improved  the  course.  Fitz, 
in  his  green  and  white  suit,  would  surely  win  the  first  prize.  Bruno 
was  not  a  little  proud  of  Fitz's  livery.  He  had,  as  it  were,  divided 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  419 

him  in  two,  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  his  feet ;  his  dress  was 
grass-green  on  the  right  and  snow-white  on  the  left.  What  a  pity 
that  there  are  but  seven  cardinal  colors,  thus  affording  so  little 
chance  to  indulge  one's  love  of  variety.  But  still,  persistence  can 
accomplish  much,  and  while  Bruno  held  his  handkerchief  before 
his  face,  he  smiled  at  the  thought  of  Fitz  with  one  boot  green  and 
the  other  white. 

"Of  course,  I  shan't  ride,"  he  said  to  the  intendant.  "Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  allow  my  jockey  to  do  so  ?  I  may  do  that ;  may 
I  not  ?  "  he  hastily  added,  as  if  fearing  a  negative  reply.  "  They 
would  think  it  mean  of  me,  if  I  did  n't.  I  have  a  large  amount 
staked  on  the  race.  I  shall  let  Fitz  ride.  Yes,  I  must ;  there  's 
no  harm  in  that." 

He  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  Fitz  entered  the  room. 
In  a  harsh  voice,  Bruno  told  him  to  go  away.  He  was  determined 
to  act  as  though  he  had  forgotten  all  about  the  races.  That  would 
prove  his  sorrow  far  more  effectually  than  if  he  were  to  withdraw 
his  engagement.  He  would  submit  to  the  fine  for  non-appearance 
and  the  world  would  thus  perceive  that  his  grief  was  deep  enough 
to  make  him  forget  everything. 

CHAPTER     VIII. 

THE  intendant  sat  on  the  sofa  with  Bruno.  He  held  Bruno's 
hand  in  his — it  was  hot  with  fever. 

Now  that  he  had  found  the  key  to  Bruno's  character  and 
present  mood,  he  knew  what  was  meant  when  the  mourner  ex- 
claimed : 

"  I  know  how  it  is  in  the  world.  To-day  and  to-morrow  there  is 
hunting  at  Wolfswinkel ;  and  day  after  to-morrow,  the  races. 
I  am  only  surprised  that  I  did  n't  forget  everything  in  that  one 
hour.  His  excellency  Von  Schnabelsdorf  is  now  '  intellectualizing  ' 
with  the  handsome  wife  of  ambassador  Von  N — .  After  that, 
conies  guard-mounting,  and,  this  evening,  there  will  be  a  banque 
at  Prince  Arnold's. — Ah  !  the  world  goes  on  in  its  beaten  track. 
If  I  could  only  forget  it ;  for  it  forgets  me. — Who  has  a  thought  for 
the  solitary  mourner?  Oh,  forgive  me,  my  beloved,  my  only  friend 
in  this  world  !  You  will  stay  with  me  !  You  will  never,  never 
leave  me  !  Do  n't  leave  me  alone,  or  I  shall  go  mad  !  " 

The  intendant  felt  sincere  pity  for  the  poor  man.  He  had  been 
invited  to  dine  with  the  master  of  the  horse,  and  merely  wished  to 
leave  for  a  few  moments  in  order  to  present  his  excuses  in  person. 
But  Bruno  would  not  permit  him  to  go,  and  induced  him  to  send 
his  excuse  in  writing. 

"  Of  course  I  '11  stay  with  you,"  said  the  intendant,  consolingly. 
"  At  such  moments,  the  presence  of  a  friend  is  like  a  light  in  the 
night,  obliging  or,  at  all  events,  enabling  one  to  see  surrounding 


420  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

objects  ;  it  teaches  us  that  the  world  has  not  yet  ceased  to  exist, 
and  that  we  do  wrong  to  bury  ourselves  in  solitude." 

"  Oh,  you  understand  me  !  Tell  me  what  to  do,  what  to  begin  ! 
I  know  nothing.  I  am  like  a  child  that  has  lost  its  way  in  the  dark 
•woods  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  you  are." 

Bruno  started.  The  intendant's  confirmation  of  his  opinion  of 
himself  rather  displeased  him. 

"  I  am  so  weak  now,"  said  he.  "Just  think  of  what  I've  had 
to  suffer  during  the  last  few  days !  " 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  gentleness  and  bitterness  in  his 
tone. 

"May  I  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly.     Do  anything  that  pleases  you." 

"Ah,  no!  nothing  pleases  me.  And  yet  I  should  like  to 
smoke." 

He  lit  a  cigar. 

The  world  had,  however,  not  quite  forgotten  him,  as  he  had 
said  in  his  anger.  A  visitor  was  announced.  He  hurriedly  put 
the  cigar  away.  The  world  was  not  to  see  him  smoking,  and  was 
not  to  imagine  that  he  was  unfeeling,  or  that  he  did  not  mourn  for 
his  father  and  sister. 

There  were  many  visitors,  and  Bruno  was  again  and  again 
obliged  to  display  his  grief  and  to  accept  the  sympathy  offered 
him.  He  now  saw  how  the  rumor  of  Irma's  death  had  spread 
throughout  the  city,  from  the  palace  to  the  hovel.  People  whom 
he  hardly  knew,  and  others  who  were  even  ill-disposed  towards 
him,  came.  He  was  obliged  to  receive  all  politely,  to  thank  them, 
and  to  accept  their  assurances  of  sympathy,  while  he  fancied  he 
could  detect  malicious  pleasure  in  many  an  eye.  But  he  was 
obliged  to  ignore  this  and,  although  now  and  then  a  nervous 
twitching  of  his  features  almost  betrayed  him,  he  managed  to  keep 
up  the  semblance  of  all-absorbing  grief. 

His  companions  in  pleasure  also  visited  him,  and  it  was  quite 
curious  to  witness  the  grave  air  which  the  young  cavaliers  assumed, 
now  and  then  casting  a  glance  at  the  great  mirror  in  order  to  see 
whether  the  serious  expression  became  them  well.  It  seemed  al- 
most comical  to  think  that  the  man  who  was  always  the  merriest 
in  the  party,  and  who  could  make  the  best  and  most  unequivocal 
jokes,  should  now  be  so  downcast.  They  seated  themselves  ;  they 
straddled  the  chairs  and  rested  their  arms  on  the  backs ;  they  lit 
iheir  cigars,  and  much  was  said  of  their  respective  "papas." 

"  My  papa  has  been  dead  this  two  years." 

"  My  papa  is  ill." 

"My  papa  intends  to  retire  on  his  pension." 

Some  one  asked  :  "  Bruno  how  old  was  your  father  ?  " 

He  did  not  know,  but  answrered  at  a  venture : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  421 

"Sixty-three." 

They  also  spoke  of  the  races ;  at  first  cautiously  and  almost  in 
a  whisper,  but  afterward  in  a  loud  voice.  They  spoke  of  Baron 
Wolfsbuchen's  great  loss. 

"  What  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  Fatima,  his  splendid  black  mare,  would  n't  obey  him,  and  he 
struck  her  over  the  mouth  with  his  sword.  He  had  forgotten  that 
the  blade  was  sharp." 

They  spoke  of  the  loss  that  he  had  incurred  by  forfeiting  the 
stakes,  and  of  the  damage  done  his  horse  ;  but  no  one  found  fault 
with  his  cruelty. 

At  last  his  comrades  left.  As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  doors, 
they  stretched  themselves.  "Well,  well;  that's  over."  A  visit 
of  condolence  is  a  sort  of  funeral  parade,  and  one's  words  are  like 
muffled  drums.  Before  they  left  the  carpeted  staircase,  they  be- 
gan to  whisper  scandal,  and  to  tell  that  Bruno  had  forbidden  his 
mother-in-law  to  come  to  the  capital,  as  their  majesties  had  been 
gracious  enough  to  stand  as  sponsors  to  his  young  scion.  The 
whole  party  concluded  to  lunch  together,  and  have  some  wine. 
There  were  merry  goings  on  at  the  French  restaurant,  and  Bru- 
no was  often  the  topic  of  conversation. 

"  He  will  be  enormously  rich,  for  he  inherits  a  double  share." 

"If  he  had  known  as  much  a  year  ago,  who  knows  whether  he 
would  have  married  Steigeneck.  His  debts  were  not  so  heavy  but 
that  he  could  have  held  out  for  another  year." 

"He  also  inherits  his  sister's  jewels,  and  they  are  of  immense 
value." 

As  if  he  were  two  beings  in  one,  the  one  here  and  the  other 
there,  Bruno's  thoughts  followed  the  companions  who  had  left  him. 
He  surmised  what  they  were  saying,  and  once  started  as  if  he  had 
heard  laughing  behind  him.  It  was  nothing,  however,  but  his  sis- 
ter's parrot  which  he  had  ordered  to  be  brought  into  his  ante-room. 
He  had  it  taken  back  to  Irma's  apartment,  as  he  did  not  know 
whether  it  really  belonged  to  her,  and  its  eternal  "  God  keep  you, 
Irma,"  annoyed  him. 

He  walked  about  the  room  for  a  long  while,  with  his  thumbs 
stuck  into  his  closely  buttoned  coat,  and  his  fingers  playing  a 
merry  but  inaudible  tune  upon  his  breast.  The  visits  of  condolence 
really  annoyed  him.  It  is  so  irksome  to  put  on  a  sorrowful  look» 
to  listen  to  words  of  consolation,  to  offer  thanks  for  sympathy, 
while  all  is  a  lie  or,  at  most,  an  empty  form —  It  is  simply  one's 
duty  to  express  sympathy  with  the  afflicted.  Perhaps  people  regret 
that  they  cannot,  in  such  cases,  send  their  empty  carriages,  as  they 
do  at  funerals —  Is  it  not  enough  to  let  the  world  know  that  the 
grief  was  great  and  general,  and  that  the  funeral  was  a  large  one  ? 
These  were  Bruno's  angry  and  ill-natured  thoughts.  "  Then  they 
go  off,"  thought  he,  "the  young  and  the  old,  in  uniform  and  in 


422  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

citizen's  dress,  twisting  their  moustaches  and  stroking  their  chins, 
with  a  self-complacent  air,  while  they  say  to  themselves :  '  You  Ve 
done  a  good  deed  ;  you  are  a  man  of  politeness  and  feeling — '  and 
when  they  get  home  they  tell  their  wives  and  daughters :  '  The 
king's  aid-de-camp  is  thus  and  so — '  and  then  they  eat  and  drink 
and  drive  out,  and  when  they  reach  the  house  they  say:  '\Ve 
ought  to  feel  satisfied  when  everything  goes  well  with  us,  and  our 
family  escapes  misfortune.'  They  use  the  misfortunes  of  others  as 
they  would  a  platform,  from  which  to  get  a  better  view  of  their  own 
prosperity."  Bruno's  fingers  moved  yet  more  quickly  than  before 
— death,  grief,  sickness  were  intended  for  the  lower  orders,  and 
not  for  the  higher  classes.  The  world  is  miserably  arranged  after 
all,  since  there  is  no  preservative  against  such  ills,  and  since  one 
cannot  purchase  immunity  from  them. 

His  excellency  Von  Schnabelsdorf  also  came.  Bruno  hated  him 
at  heart,  for  it  was  he  who  had  invented  the  sobriquet  of  "Miss 
Mother-in-law "  for  Baroness  Steigeneck,  the  whilom  dancer. 
Bruno,  however,  felt  obliged  to  act  as  if  he  knew  nothing  of  it,  to 
take  his  hand  in  the  most  polite  and  grateful  manner,  and  to  re- 
ceive a  kiss  from  the  lips  which  had  put  a  stigma  upon  his  family ; 
for  Von  Schnabelsdorf  stood  highest  at  court,  and  Bruno  could  not 
do  without  his  friendship,  which  was  doubly  necessary,  now  that  his 
main  support,  his  sister,  had  been  taken  from  him. 

Thus  Bruno  felt  annoyed  at  the  visits  of  condolence  he  received, 
as  well  as  at  those  which  were  withheld.  The  world  was  consid- 
erate enough  to  refrain  from  alluding  to  anything  more  than  Irma's 
sudden  and  unfortunate  death ;  how  she  was  thrown  from  her 
horse  and  fell  into  the  lake.  The  vice-master  of  the  horse  main- 
tained that  Pluto  had  never  properly  been  broken  in.  Bruno,  him- 
self, behaved  as  if  he  really  believed  that  Irma  had  met  with  her 
death  by  accident. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  he  delighted  to  picture  to  himself  the 
scene  of  the  suicide  and  to  think  of  Irma  at  the  bottom  of  the 
lake,  held  fast  to  the  rocks  by  her  long  hair.  He  could  not  ban- 
ish the  awful  picture,  and  at  last  threw  open  the  window,  so  that 
he  might  divert  himself  with  external  objects. 

Bruno  did  not  care  to  eat  or  drink  anything  ;  the  intendant  could 
only  induce  him  to  take  some  food,  by  ordering  dinner  for  himself. 
Bruno  felt  obliged  to  sit  down  with  him,  and,  at  every  mouthful,  he 
said  :  "  I  can't  eat."  At  last,  however,  he  ordered  some  cham- 
pagne. 

"  I  must  build  a  fire  in  my  engine  !  "  said  he,  gnashing  his  teeth, 
while  he  thrust  the  bottle  into  the  wine-cooler.  "  I  derive  as  little 
pleasure  from  this  as  the  engine  does  from  the  coals." 

He  drank  down  the  wine  hastily  and  went  on  eating,  with  a  woe- 
begone expression,  as  if  he  would,  at  any  moment,  burst  intd 
tears. 


Inrol    4" 


ON  THE  H. 

He  ordered  more  champagne. 

"  Did  you  see  that?  "  said  he,  looking  out  )f  the  window.  His 
eyes  were  inflamed.  "There's  Kreuter,  the  merchant,  riding 
Count  Klettenheim's  chestnut  gelding.  They  must  have  played 
high  last  night,  that  the  Count  should  give  up  his  horse  ;  why,  it 's 
the  pride  of  his  life,  his  honor.  What  is  Klettenheim  without  his 
gelding.  A  mere  cipher,  a  double  zero.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  ex- 
cuse me  !  I  am  feverish,  I  am  ill.  But  I  won't  be  ill !  I  ^hall 
say  nothing  more.  Go  on  ;  say  whatever  you  please." 

The  intendant  had  nothing  to  say.  He  felt  as  ill-at-tase  as  if  he 
were  shut  up  in  a  dungeon  with  a  maniac. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  lackey  Baum,"  cried  Bruno,  suddenly. 
The  intendant  was  obliged  to  dispatch  a  telegram  to  the  summer 
palace,  asking  that  Baum  should  be  sent  to  the  king's  aid-de- 
camp. 

Bruno  let  down  the  curtains,  ordered  lights  and  more  wine,  and 
gave  orders  that  no  one  should  be  admitted.  The  intendant  was 
in  despair,  but  Bruno  exclaimed  : 

"  My  dear  friend,  everything  on  earth  is  suicide,  with  this  differ- 
ence, however — here,  one  can  always  come  to  life  again.  The  hour 
one  kills  is  the  only  one  that  is  rightly  spent." 

The  intendant  feared  an  outbreak  of  delirium,  but  Bruno  was 
not  one  of  those  cavaliers  who  have  only  as  much  mind  as  the 
champagne  they  have  just  tossed  down  inspires  them  with  and 
who,  at  best,  can  only  write  a  gallant  billet-doux  or  devise  a 
witty  impropriety.  At  other  times,  Bruno  would  have  laughed  at 
the  man  who  would  ask  him  to  adopt  a  system  as  his  own,  and  yet 
he  now  asserted  that  he  had  one  and,  filling  his  glass  again,  ex- 
claimed :  "  Yes,  my  friend  ;  there  are  only  two  kinds  of  human 
beings  in  the  world." 

"  Men  and  women  ?  "  said  the  intendant,  who  thought  it  best  to 
fall  in  with  his  vein,  in  order  more  easily  to  divert  him  from  it. 

"  Pshaw !  "  interrupted  Bruno.  "  Who  is  speaking  of  such  things  ? 
Listen,  my  friend  ;  the  two  human  species  are  those  who  enjoy  and 
those  who  suffer.  He  who  lives  for  so-called  ideas — for  the  good, 
the  beautiful,  the  true.  The  man  with  an  ideal  may  sacrifice  his 
life,  or  be  burnt  at  the  stake.  It  is  his  duty.  His  life  is  a  short 
and  uneventful  one,  but  is  compensated  by  the  long  and  enduring 
remembrance  in  which  he  is  held  by  posterity.  That  balances  the 
reckoning.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

The  intendant  was  obliged  to  assent.     What  could  he  do  ? 

"And  the  second  species,"  added  Bruno,  "includes  ourselves — 
those  who  enjoy.  The  best  thing  in  the  world  is  enjoyment  with- 
out consequences.  After  I  have  been  smoking,  gaming  or  listen- 
ing to  music,  I  can  do  anything  ;  nothing  disturbs  me  then.  Other 
pleasures  unfortunately  have  consequences.  One  ought  to  have  no 
family-—  no  family — by  all  means,  no  family." 


424  tXV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Bruno  suddenly  burst  into  tears.  The  intendant  was  at  a  loss 
how  to  help  him,  and  reproached  himself  for  not"  having  induced 
Bruno  to  refrain  from  drinking  and  talking.  Bruno  threw  his  head 
back,  and  the  intendant  wrapped  a  piece  of  ice  in  a  handkerchief 
and  laid  it  on  his  forehead. 

"  Thanks  !  "  said  Bruno,  closing  his  eyes  ;  "  thanks  !  " 

He  was  soon  asleep. 

The  servant  entered.  Bruno  awoke.  The  intendant  drew  aside 
the  curtains  and  opened  the  windows.  It  was  high  noon. 

Word  came  that  Baum  had  already  started  off  with  Doctor  Six- 
tus,  the  court  physician.  "Then  we  will  go  without  them,''  said 
Bruno,  who  had  regained  his  composure. 

"We?" 

"  You  see,  my  grief  makes  me  think  that  I  have  already  told  you 
everything.  We  must  go  to  the  lake  to  look  for  traces  of  my  un- 
fortunate sister.  -  Have  I  really  said  nothing  of  this  to  you  before  ?  " 

"  No — but  I  am  at  your  service.  I  will  ask  for  leave  of  absence 
for  myself  and  for  you,  too," 

"There  's  no  need  of  that.  His  majesty  has  already  offered  it 
to  me.  Your  Majesty  is  very  gracious — very.  Do  you  think  we 
serve  you  ?  Ha,  ha  !  we  only  serve  you  because  we  can  enjoy 
ourselves  better,  and  in  more  varied  ways,  at  your  court.  You  are 
our  host,  and  do  not  mind  stealthily  taking  a  tit-bit  yourself,  behind 
the  bar — I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  friend — what  dii  I  say  ?  You 
heard  nothing — did  you  ?  It  was  delirium  !  I  am  growing  mad  !  I 
must  go  out !  Let  us  start  this  very  day  !  " 

The  intendant  consented  and  left  him  for  an  hour,  in  order  to 
arrange  various  matters  before  his  departure. 

Bruno  ordered  his  trunks  to  be  packed  and  gave  instructions 
that  two  saddle-horses  should  be  sent  to  the  lake  at  once. 

CHAPTER     IX. 

BRUXO  was  standing  in   his  room,   surrounded   by  luggage 
of  various  shapes,  when  a  servant   announced   his  gracious 
mother-in  law. 

'  "She  here?  And  in  spite  of  my  prohibition?"  thought  he  to 
himself.  "Show  her  in,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  who  quickly 
threw  open  the  folding  doors,  and  closed  them  again  w'hen  the 
lady  had  entered.  "Ah,  my  dear  mother!"  exclaimed  Bruno, 
•who  was  about  to  hurry  forward  to  embrace  her,  but  she  coolly 
offered  him  her  hand  and  said : 

•  Xo,  no,"  and  then,  seating  herself  on  a  sofa,  she  continued  : 

'  Draw  near ;   take  a  seat." 

'Do  you  know — ?  "  enquired  Bruno. 

'  I  know  all ;  you  need  tell  me  nothing." 

'I  thank  you  for  coming  to  offer  me  your  sympathy." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  425 

"  I  'm  delighted — I  meant  to  say  that  I  feel  comforted  to  find 
you  so  composed.  Arabella  knows  nothing  as  yet?  " 

"No." 

"Nor  need  she  know  of  it. — What  is  the  meanir.g  of  all  this 
luggage  ?  " 

Bruno  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  Who  had  any  right  to 
enquire,  and  in  such  a  tone  ? 

"I  'm  going  on  a  journey,"  he  answered  bluntly,  and  then,  in 
order  to  prevent  a  scene,  he  added  in  a  gentle  tone :  "  As  her 
brother,  I  must  make  enquiries  in  regard  to  the  accident." 

"I  ppprove  of  that;  it  's  quite  proper,"  replied  the  Baroness. 
"  Have  you  already  had  an  understanding  with  him  ? — You  do  n't 
seem  to  understand  me,  as  you  do  n't  answer ;  I  mean  with  this 
king." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bruno  boldly,  "  but  I  have  pledged  my  word  to  let 
it  go  no  further." 

"  Very  well,  I  respect  your  discretion ;  but  now,  a  frank  word 
with  you.  Please  close  the  portiere." 

Bruno  did  as  he  was  ordered,  but  ground  his  teeth  as  he  walked 
towards  the  door.  When  he  returned  again,  his  manner  was  as 
polite  and  attentive  as  before. 

"  Proceed,"  said  he,  "  no  one  hears  us  ;  a  mourner  listens  to  you 
patiently." 

"  A  mourner  !  We  have  greater  cause  to  mourn  than  you  have. 
We  thought  we  had  allied  ourselves  with  one  of  the  best  families 
in  the  land."  Bruno  started  as  if  angry. 

"  Pray  drop  your  acting  for  the  present,"  continued  the  Bar- 
oness, whose  voice  and  appearance  had  changed.  "  We  are  alone 
now,  and  unmasked.  In  spite  of  the  outward  show  of  politeness, 
you  have  never  treated  me  with  the  respect  which  I  have  a  right  to 
demand  Do  n't  contradict  me ;  please  let  me  finish  what  I  am 
about  to  say:  When  I  calmly  reflected  on  the  matter,  I  was 
not  angry  with  you  on  that  account.  I  knew  my  position.  But  now, 
my  dear  son-in-law,  matters  have  changed.  I  was  what  your 
sister  was,  but  I  never  feigned  virtue.  The  world  esteemed  me  at 
my  true  value — " 

Bruno  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

The  Baroness  continued,  grinding  her  teeth  with  anger  as  she 
spoke : 

"  When  your  sister  was  so  kind  to  us,  I  could  have  knelt  to  her 
in  humility.  She  must  give  me  back  my  humility,  though  she  be 
:  n  hell !  It  was  not  she  who  was  the  better ;  it  was  I —  But  now, 
my  son-in-law,  your  disdainful  behavior  must  cease.  Let  me  tell 
you,  you  ought  to  feel  glad  that  we  've  allied  ourselves  with  you. 
But  we  shall  never  let  you  feel  it ;  that  is,  if  you  conduct  ycurself 
in  a  becoming  manner." 

"  And  am  I  not  doing  so  ?  "  asked  Bruno,  who,  during  this  at- 
tack, had  entirely  lost  his  self-command. 


426  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  We  will  see ;  but,  first  of  all,  let  me  tell  you  that,  after  this,  I 
shall  reside  with  Arabella  as  often  and  as  long  as  I  choose  to. 
This  insipidly  moral  queen  has  been  taught  a  lesson,  too.  At 
present,  however,  I  have  no  desire  to  appear  at  court.  But  the 
social  circle  is  open  to  me — I  shall  enter  it,  arm  in  arm  with  you, 
my  amiable,  my  gallant  son." 

The  old  woman  rose  and,  bowing  gracefully,  offered  her  arm  to 
Bruno.  The  latter  took  his  mother-in-law's  hand  in  his  own  and 
held  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Fie  !  you  've  been  drinking  wine,  in  your  grief!  "  cried  the  old 
danseuse,  hurriedly  putting  her  fine  and  strongly-perfumed  hand- 
kerchief to  her  lips. 

"  Miss  Mother-in-law — "  the  words  were  on  the  end  of  Bruno's 
tongue  ;  he  would  like  to  have  hurled  them  at  her.  Steps  were 
heard.  A  moment  afterward,  the  intendant  entered,  his  presence 
serving  as  a  great  relief  to  Bruno. 

"  I  beg  pardon  !  do  n't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  he,  when  he 
saw  Bruno's  mother-in  law. 

"You  're  not  disturbing  us,"  replied  Bruno,  quickly.  "In  spite 
of  a  violent  attack  of  fever,  our  dear  mother,  now  our  grandmother, 
has  hastened  to  console  us.  I  am  fortunate  in  still  having  a  few 
faithful  relatives,  and  a  friend  like  yourself.  I  shall  now  live  entirely 
for  the.  family  still  left  me." 

The  Baroness  nodded  a  pleased  assent.  She  was  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  Bruno's  first  rehearsal  of  his  new  role. 

"  We  shan't  leave  to-day?  "  enquired  the  intendant. 

"  Yes,  yes.     We  must  not  lose  another  minute." 

The  mother-in-law  undertook  to  tell  Arabella  of  Bruno's  de- 
parture, and  to  inform  her  that  he  had  been  sent  away  on  public 
business. 

While  slowly  drawing  on  his  black  gloves,  Bruno  thanked  his 
mother-in-law.'  He  thanked  her  sincerely,  for  while  he  well  knew 
that  he  was  about  to  enter  upon  a  state  of  dependence,  and  that 
her  presence  in  his  house  would  prove  distasteful  to  him  in  many 
ways,  he,  at  the  same  time,  consoled  himself  with  the  hope  that 
she  would  prove  a  companion  to  his  wife,  and  that  he  could  thus 
absent  himself  from  home  more  frequently,  and  for  longer  periods, 
than  he  had  before  done ;  for  he  felt  it  not  a  little  irksome  to  be 
obliged  to  spend  so  much  of  his  time  with  his  wife.  The  leave- 
taking  was  short,  but  hearty.  Bruno  was  permitted  to  kiss  his 
mother-in-law's  cheek.  After  he  got  into  the  carriage,  he  rubbed 
his  lips  till  they  were  almost  sore,  in  order  to  wipe  the  rouge  off 
of  them. 

It  was  already  evening  when  they  drove  off,  and  they  passed  the 
night  at  the  first  posting-house.  Bruno  lay  down  on  the  bed  to 
rest  himself  "for  a  little  while,"  but  he  did  not  awake  until  late 
the  following  mnrning. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  427 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE  queen,  overcome  with  grief,  lay  sleeping  in  her  apart- 
ment. 

The  court  ladies  were  gathered  together  on  the  terrace  under 
the  weeping  ash,  and  did  not  care  to  leave  one  another.  It  seemed 
as  if  a  fear  of  ghosts  oppressed  them  all.  It  was  but  a  few  days 
since  Irma  had  been  in  their  midst.  She  had  been  sitting  in  the 
chair  without  a  back — she  never  leaned  against  anything  The  seat 
she  had  occupied  remained  empty,  and  if  the  paths  were  not 
freshly  raked  every  morning,  her  foot-print  would  still  be  there. 
And  now  she  had  vanished  from  the  world.  Her  light  had  been 
extinguished  and  in  so  terrible  a  manner.  Who  could  tell  how  long 
her  ghost  might  haunt  the  palace  and  what  mischief  it  might  do. 
The  world,  at  last,  knew  what  had  been  going  on. 

Th^  ladies  were  busily  engaged  at  their  embroidery.  At  other 
times,  they  would  take  turns  in  reading  aloud  ;  but  to-day  their 
book — it  was  a  French  novel,  of  course — remained  untouched. 
They  were  intensely  interested  in  the  story,  but  no  one  ventured  to 
propose  that  the  reading  should  be  gone  on  with,  nor  did  sustained 
conversation  seem  possible.  Now  and  then  a  voice  was  heard : 
"Dear  Clotilde,"  "dearest  Hannah,  can  you  lend  me  some  violet, 
or  some  pale  green?"  "Oh,  I  tremble  so,  that  I  cannot  thread 
my  needle  ;  have  you  a  needle-threader?  " 

It  was,  fortunately,  at  hand.  They  were,  none  of  them,  willing 
to  appear  so  little  moved  as  to  be  able  to  thread  a  needle. 

They  deplored  Irma's  fate,  and  it  did  them  good  to  be  able  to 
show  how  kind  and  merciful  they  were.  They  felt  happy  in  being 
able  to  accord  their  pious  forgiveness  to  the  unhappy  one,  and, 
since  they  had  been  so  gentle  and  forgiving,  they  felt  it  their  right 
to  denounce  her  crime  the  more  severely.  It  was  thus  they 
avenged  themselves  for  the  self-humiliation  they  had  endured ; 
for,  while  Irma  was  the  prime  favorite,  they  had  paid  greater 
homage  to  her  than  to  the  queen. 

They  never  mentioned  the  royal  couple  except  in  terms  of  re- 
spect— with  all  their  apparent  confidence,  they  distrusted  each 
other.  They  felt  that  there  was  trouble  ahead,  but  that  it  was  best 
for  them  to  appear  unconscious  of  it. 

Countess  Brinkenstein  was  the  only  one  who  had  a  good  word 
to  say  for  Irma. 

"Her  father  was  greatly  to  blame,"  said  she;  "it  was  he  .vho 
instilled  this  belief  into  Irma." 

"  And  yet  he  had  her  educated  at  the  convent." 

"  But  she  inherited  from  him  a  contempt  for  all  forms  and  tra- 
ditions, and  that  was  her  misfortune.  She  had  a  lovely  disposition, 
was  richly  endowed  by  nature,  and  her  heart  was  free  from  the 
slightest  trace  of  envy  or  ill-r  ature." 


428  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

No  one  ventured  to  contradict  Countess  Brinkenstein.  Per 
haps,  thought  they,  etiquette  requires  us  to  speak  well  of  Irma  and 
to  forget  her  terrible  deed. 

"Who  knows  whether  her  brother  would  have  married  the 
Steigeneck,  if  he  had  known  that  he  was  to  inherit  everything !" 
softly  whispered  a  delicate  and  languishing  little  lady  to  her  neigh- 
bor, while  she  bent  over  her  wool-basket. 

The  one  whom  she  had  addressed  looked  at  her  with  a  sad,  yet 
grateful  expression.  She  had  once  loved  Count  Bruno  and  still 
loved  him. 

"  I  have  a  book  of  hers." 

"And  I  have  one  of  her  drawings." 

"And  I  have  some  of  her  music." 

They  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  possessing  articles  which  had 
once  been  hers,  and  determined  that  everything  should  be  sent  to 
her  brother. 

"  I  passed  her  rooms,  early  this  morning,"  said  Princess  An- 
gelica's maid  of  honor — she  always  seemed  as  if  half-frozen  and 
rubbed  her  hands  and  breathed  on  her  finger-tips  while  she  spoke 
— "  the  windows  were  open.  I  saw  the  lonely  parrot  in  his  cage, 
and  he  kept  calling  out ;  '  God  keep  you,  Irma.'  It  was  dreadful." 

They  all  shuddered,  and  yet  they  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  in 
dwelling  on  the  subject.  The  pious  court  lady  joined  the  circle, 
and  mentioned  that  Doctor  Sixtus  had  just  taken  leave  of  her, 
that  he  had  started  for  the  Highlands,  that  Fein,  the  notary,  had 
accompanied  him,  that  he  had  also  taken  Baum  along,  and  that 
they  meant  to  search  for  the  body  of  Countess  Irma. 

"  Will  he  bring  her  here,  or  to  Wildenort  castle  ?  " 

"  How  terrible,  to  be  gaped  at  in  death  by  common  people  ! " 

"Horrible  !  it  makes  me  shudder." 

"  Pray  let  me  have  your  vinaigrette." 

A  bottle  of  English  smelling-salts  was  passed  round  the  circle. 

"  And  to  have  every  bystander  volunteer  a  funeral  sermon  !  " 

"  How  improper  to  take  one's  life  in  so  public  a  manner  !  " 

"  If  there  were  no  horrid  newspapers,"  whined  the  freezing 
court  lady. 

The  conversation  gradually  assumed  a  more  cheerful  tone. 

"Ah  me!"  exclaimed  a  pert  and  pretty  court  lady,  "how  we 
were  all  obliged  to  '  enthuse '  about  the  beauties  of  nature  and  the 

fenial  traits  of  the  lower  orders  during  her  life  and  reign.     Now, 
imagine  one  may  at  last  venture  to  say  that  nature  's  a  bore,  and 
that  the  lower  orders  are  horrid,  without  being  regarded  as  a 
heretic." 

In  spite  of  the  malice  that  flavored  it,  they  found  the  remark 
both  just  and  appropriate.     In  a  little  while  they  were  all  convers- 
ing and  laughing,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
A  wanton  boy  has  shot  a  sparrow.     The  rest  of  the  flock  arc 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  429 

very  sad  and  pipe  and  prate  about  the  matter  for  a  while  ;  but  soon 
they  hop  about  again,  and  chirrup  as  merrily  as  before. 

To  give  truth  its  due,  it  is  necessary  to  state  that  many  of  the 
ladies  would  have  been  glad  to  speak  well  of  Irma,  but  they  kept 
such  feelings  in  the  background.  Of  all  things  in  the  world,  they 
dreaded  showing  themselves  sentimental. 

It  was  not  until  Countess  Brinkenstein  again  began  to  speak  that 
the  rest  of  the  company  became  more  calm  and  dignified  than  they 
had  been. 

Countess  Brinkenstein's  demeanor  seemed  to  say :  "  I  am,  un- 
fortun£tely,  the  one  who  prophesied  it  all ;  and  now  that  it  has  all 
come  to  pass  as  I  said  it  would,  I  am  not  in  the  least  proud  of  it." 
It  was  both  her  right  and  her  duty  to  speak  compassionately  of 
Irma,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  mildly  to  point  a  moral. 

"  Eccentricity  !  Ah  yes,  eccentricity  !"  said  she.  "  Poor  Countess 
Wildenort !  The  publicity  of  her  deed  is,  in  itself,  a  serious  offense  ; 
but  do  not  let  us,  while  thinking  of  her  terrible  fate,  forget  that  she 
was  undeniably  possessed  of  many  good  traits.  She  was  beautiful, 
anxious  to  please  every  one,  and  yet  without  a  trace  of  coquetry. 
She  possessed  intellect  and  wit,  but  she  never  used  them  to  slander 
others.  A  poor  eccentric  creature  !  " 

This  disposed  of  Irma,  and  the  other  court  ladies  had,  at  the 
same  time,  received  a  lesson. 

The  eyes  of  all  were  directed  towards  the  valley. 

"  There  goes  the  carriage  !  "  they  said.  Doctor  Sixtus  saw  the 
ladies  and  saluted  them.  The  notary  sat  by  his  side,  and  Baum 
sat  opposite.  He  was  too  tired  to  sit  up  on  the  box.  "  It  is 
scarcely  a  year  since  we  made  this  same  journey  together,"  said 
Sixtus  to  Baum. 

Baum  was  not  in  a  talkative  mood  ;  he  was  too  tired.  After 
great  preparations,  he  had  that  day  passed  his  examination,  and 
could  say  to  himself  that  he  had  not  come  off  without  honor.  Al- 
though he  was  not  accustomed  to  find  himself  inside  of  the  car- 
riage, he  yet  thought  he  might  take  it  for  granted  that  this  would 
henceforth  be  his  place.  He  was  about  to  become  a  different,  a 
more  exalted  personage.  He  had,  indeed,  become  such  already- 
all  that  was  needed  was  the  outward  token.  He  would  have  been 
willing  to  remain  a  simple  lackey.  Perhaps  the  king  desired  to 
have  it  so,  lest  he  might  betray  himself.  He  was  willing  to  let  him 
have  his  own  way,  even  in  this.  He  and  the  king  knew  how  they 
stood  towards  each  other.  He  smiled  to  himself,  and  felt  like  a 
girl  whose  lover  has  declared  his  affection  for  her ;  the  formal  woo- 
ing can  take  place  at  any  time. 

When  Doctor  Sixtus  helped  himself  to  a  cigar,  Baum  was  at 
once  ready  with  a  light.  That,  however,  was,  for  the  present,  his 
last  act  of  service.  Nature  was  not  to  be  overcome  and  Baum  was 
imnolite  enough  to  fall  asleen  in  the  nresence  of  the  gentlemen. 


430  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

But  he  was  so  well  schooled  that,  even  while  asleep,  he  sat  up 
right  and  ready  at  any  moment  to  obey  their  commands. 

It  was  not  until  they  halted,  that  Baum  awoke.  The  notary's 
searching  questions  greatly  disturbed  his  comfort.  What  matters 
the  death  of  a  countess,  thought  he,  if  one  can  rise  by  means  of  it. 
He  was  greatly  aA^yed  that  his  family — his  mother,  his  brother 
and  his  sister — w'OJS'rnixed  up  in  the  affair:  and  had  n't  Thomas 
said  something  alrout  the  death  of  Esther,  or  was  it  merely  a 
dream  ?  Events  had  succeeded  each  other  so  rapidly  that  they 
quite  bewildered  him. 

Doctor  Sixtus  apologized  to  the  notary  for  Baum's  disconnected 
narrative. 

Baum  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Did  he  already  know  that 
Baum  was  about  to  be  advanced,  and  did  he  mean  to  curry  favor 
with  him  ?  He  was  cunning  enough  to  think  of  such  a  thing. 

Baum  resolved,  for  the  present,  only  to  show  the  spot  where  he 
had  found  the  hat  and  shoes,  and  to  leave  his  mother  and  brother 
entirely  out  of  the  affair.  At  all  events,  he  would  not  drag  them 
into  it,  and  suggested  that  they  should  take  the  forester  with  them. 
They  found  him  at  last,  and  then  wended  their  way  towards  the 
assize  town  in  which  Doctor  Kumpan  lived. 

Sixtus  sent  for  the  latter.  He  soon  came  to  the  inn,  and  the 
jolly  fellow  was  lavish  in  his  praise  of  Countess  Irma.  He  thought 
it  greatly  to  her  credit  that  she  had  had  courage  to  live  and  die  as 
she  chose.  Besides  that,  Kumpan  delighted  in  joking  his  friend, 
in  regard  to  the  great  missions  on  which  he  had  been  employed, 
looking  up  wet  nurses  and  hunting  corpses.  He  asked  for  the 
privilege  of  being  permitted  to  dissect  the  Countess. 

Doctor  Sixtus  did  not  in  the  least  relish  the  coarse  humor  of 
his  former  fellow  student.  Doctor  Kumpan  told  him  of  the  great 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  Walpurga's  circumstances,  that 
she  and  the  rest  of  her  family  had  moved  far  away  to  the  Highlands, 
near  the  frontier.  He  also  told  him  several  very  funny  stories  at 
Hansei's  expense,  and  especially  about  the  wager  for  six  measures 
of  wine. 

Sixtus  informed  his  comrade  that  Walpurga  was  no  longer  a 
favorite  at  court,  and  that  it  would  soon  be  proven  that  she  had 
been  the  mediator.  Although  he  spoke  in  an  undertone,  Baum 
heard  every  word.  After  Sixtus  had  made  this  disclosure  to  Kum- 
pan, he  felt  sorry  for  what  he  had  done,  but  it  was  just  because 
they  had  so  few  subjects  in  common,  that  he  had  told  him  the  very 
matters  he  desired  to  keep  from  him.  All  that  remained  was  to 
make  his  friend  promise  not  to  mention  a  word  of  the  affair,  and 
Kumpan  always  was  a  man  of  his  word. 

After  Kumpan  had  left,  Baum  went  up  to  Sixtus  again  and  told 
him  that  he  thought  it  would  be  well  to  go  to  Walpurga,  as  she 
might  know  something  of  the  affair ;  but  Sixtus  replied  that  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  431 

journey  would  be  a  useless  one  and  that  Baum  was  to  remain 
with  him. 

CHAPTER    XI. 

ON  the  following  morning,  Bruno  would  Jive  liked  to  return. 
What  was  the  use  of  it  all  ?  Was  he  ttlkt  the  fable  of  the 
little  brother  and  sister  over  again,  and  to  be  tne  little  brother  who 
had  gone  in  search  of  his  sister  ?  And  what  would  be  the  result  ? 
A  dreadful,  agitating  sight — one  which  he  could  never  banish  from 
his  memory.  It  would  haunt  him  in  his  dreams — a  bloated,  dis- 
figured corpse  with  open  mouth. 

Bruno  cast  an  injured  look  upon  the  friend  who  congratulated 
him  on  having  slept  so  well,  and  on  having  thus  gained  new 
strength  for  the  trials  the  day  might  have  in  store  for  him.  Bruno 
looked  at  the  intendant  with  feelings  of  anger  and  distrust.  He  felt 
almost  certain  that  this  man  regarded  the  whole  occurrence  as  a 
tragic  drama,  which  would  have  to  be  mounted  for  the  stage.  It 
was  evident  to  him  that  the  intendant  was  using  this  as  a  study,  of 
which  he  would  avail  himself  in  future  scenic  representations,  and 
that  he  was  observing  his  every  gesture  and  feature,  so  that  he 
might  be  able  to  instruct  the  actors  under  him ;  so  that  he  might 
say :  "  Thus  does  one  pose  himself,  and  thus  does  one  groan  when 
he  finds  his  sister's  corpse —  Am  I  to  be  this  puppet's  puppet  ? 
No,  never !  " 

Bruno  would  have  liked,  best  of  all,  to  have  journeyed  back  to 
his  mother-in-law,  even  if  he  had  to  succumb  to  her.  He  could 
convert  his  humility  into  gallantry,  and,  at  all  events,  would  be 
spared  these  terrible  sights.  But  here  was  his  friend  encouraging 
him  to  neglect  nothing  which  fraternal  duty  demanded  of  him. 
Oh  !  these  people  of  feeling  are  the  most  abominable  of  mortals, 
for  they  take  everything  so  seriously.  Do  they  really  mean  all  they 
say  ?  Who  knows  ?  Every  one  in  the  world  is  merely  playing  a 
part,  after  all. 

He  must  go  on,  and  he  saw  what  was  in  store  for  him.  This 
terrible  friend  with  the  strong  sense  of  duty — and,  after  all,  he  was 
not  his  friend — this  man,  whom  he  had  inflicted  on  himself,  would 
force  him  to  spend  days,  searching  for  horrors  which  he  had  no 
desire  to  find.  They  drove  on,  in  an  ill-humor. 

The  intendant,  finding  that  Bruno  would  formally  thank  him  for 
every  little  service  declared  : 

"I  beg  of. you,  don't  thank  me.  I  am  only  doing  my  duty  to 
my  friend  and  to  myself.  You  know  that  I  once  loved  your  sister, 
and  that  she  rejected  my  suit." 

He  was  discreet  enough  to  refrain  from  adding  that  he  had  after- 
ward rejected  her  offer,  and  Bruno  groaned  inwardly  at  his  cruel 
discretion. 


432  O.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  intendant  found  Bruno  quiet  and  reserved.  Concluding 
that  this  was  the  natural  reaction  from  the  excitement  of  the  pre- 
vious day,  he,  too,  remained  silent.  Bruno  often  looked  at  the  in- 
tendant, as  if  he  were  a  gaoler  leading  him  to  the  place  of  pun- 
ishment. 

They  drove  on  rapidly.  At  the  different  post-houses,  where 
they  stopped  to  change  horses,  the  intendant  would  fluently  con- 
verse with  the  postilions  and  the  innkeepers  in  their  native  dialect. 
Several  of  them  knew  him. 

To  his  great  alarm,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Bruno  that  he  had 
the  saloon  warbler  with  him.  He  was  perfectly  at  home  here,  and 
would  now  have  a  chance  to  display  the  treasures  of  his  dialect 
wardrobe,  to  pursue  his  studies,  and  revel  in  the  pleasure  which 
trne  rude  dialect  of  the  region  afforded  him. 

His  friend,  for  this  was  the  only  term  by  which  he  dared  char- 
acterize him,  was  now  in  his  element,  and  found  it  no  easy  matter 
to  refrain  from  expressing  his  delight  thereat. 

At  length  they  reached  the  last  mountain  and  saw,  from  afar,  the 
mirror-like  surface  of  the  lake,  surrounded  by  gigantic  mountains 
and  sparkling  in  the  golden  sunshine. 

"Do  you  see  that  maple  tree,  over  there  ?"  said  the  intendant, 
no  longer  able  to  contain  himself,  "there  to  the  left,  by  the  small 
rock — that  is  the  point  from  which  I  sketched  the  painting  that 
hangs  in  her  majesty's  music-room." 

The  friend  had  imagined  that  this  remark  might  help  to  create 
a  calmer  mood  in  Bruno,  so  that  the  terrible  idea  of  his  sister's 
having  sought  her  death  below  that  very  spot,  might  not  at  once 
obtrude  itself. 

Bruno  looked  at  him  with  an  impatient  air.  Every  one  thinks 
of  himself,  said  an  inner  voice,  and  this  coxcomb  is  now  thinking 
of  his  daubs.  He  remained  silent,  however,  for  silence  was  more 
expressive  of  grief  than  words  could  be.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  for 
the  dazzling  reflection  of  the  sun's  rays  on  the  surface  of  the  lake 
had  made  them  ache.  His  friend  grasped  his  hand  and  silently 
pressed  it.  He  had  understood  this  fraternal  heart,  and  his  glance 
meant :  others  may  think  you  superficial  and  frivolous,  but  I  know 
you  better. 

From  the  landing  near  by,  they  could  hear  the  neighing  of  Bruno's 
horses,  which  were  there  in  charge  of  his  grooms.  And  now, 
for  the  first  time,  Bruno  felt  a  sense  of  shame  in  the  presence  of 
his  servants.  They,  of  course,  knew  even-thing,  and  how  they 
must  have  talked  about  it  in  the  tap-room.  He  was  full  of  anger 
at  the  sister  who  had  inflicted  all  this  upon  him. 

The  first  information  they  received  at  the  inn  was  that  old  Zenza 
had  been  there.  She  had  endeavored  to  sell  or  to  pawn  the  ring 
which  the  maid  of  honor  had  given  her  on  the  night  before  she 
had  drowned  herself.  As  they  all  regarded  the  ring  as  stolen,  she 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  433 

could  obtain  nothing  for  it.  It  was  now  decided  that  Zenza  must 
know  more.  They  took  a  guide  and  walked  along  the  mountain 
path  that  led  towards  her  hut. 

Bruno,  being  a  huntsman,  was  usually  a  good  climber,  but  to-day 
he  felt  as  if  he  would  break  down  at  every  step,  and  was  often 
obliged  to  stop  and  rest. 

His  friend  encouraged  him  and  they  walked  on  through  the 
sunny  forest,  where  the  light  shone  brightly  on  the  soft  moss,  while 
many  a  hawk  uttered  its  shrill  cry  overhead. 

At  the  crossing  of  the  roads,  they  encountered  a  party  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  ;  they  were  in  city  dress  and  had  adorned  their  hats 
with  green  branches  and  garlands.  Bruno  hurriedly  stepped  aside 
from  the  path.  The  intendant,  however,  was  recognized  by  a 
former  colleague  of  his,  and  Bruno  heard  him  say  that  the  guests 
of  a  little  watering  place  in  the  neighborhood  were  making  an  ex- 
cursion to  see  the  place  where  Countess  Wildenort  had  drowned 
herself.  The  party  passed  on  and  their  loud  and  cheerful  talk  was 
heard  from  afar. 

At  last  they  reached  the  hut.  It  was  closed.  They  knocked  at 
the  door,  A  growl  was  the  only  answer  they  received,  and  the 
next  moment  they  heard  some  one  dashing  a  bolt  back. 

A  neglected  looking,  yet  powerful  man,  with  a  wild,  dishevelled 
appearance,  stood  before  them. 

Thomas  recognized  Bruno  at  once  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah,  Wildenort !  it 's  well  you  Ve  come.  I  take  my  hat  off  to 
you,  for  you  're  an  out-and-out  man.  What  matters  one's  father ! 
When  he  's  dying,  ride  off;  one  can't  help  him  die,  you  know. 
Ho,  ho  !  you  're  a  splendid  fellow.  No  one  cares  for  the  old  lum- 
ber any  more." 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  asked  Bruno,  with  tremulous 
voice. 

"  I  shan't  harm  you  ;  there  's  my  hand  on  it.  I  rll  do  you  no 
harm.  You  let  the  king  do  what  he  chooses  and  make  no  fuss 
about  it,  and  so  I  shall  do  you  no  harm,  for  what  you  've  done  in 
the  same  line  of  business.  You  're  my  king.  I  got  it  out  of  her 
at  the  very  last,  that  you  were  the  one,  and  that,  because  it  was 
you,  she  had  helped  your  sister.  You  know  what  I  mean,  well 
enough.  I  shan't  say  a  word.  The  stupid  world  need  n't  know 
what  there  is  between  us.  Sister,  king;  poacher,  count — it 's  all  as 
it  should  be." 

"This  man  seems  crazed,"  said  the  intendant  to  the  guide. 
"What  do  you  want?  Let  go  of  the  gentleman  !  "  he  called  out 
to  Thomas. 

"  Is  that  your  lackey  ?     Where  's  the  one  with  the  coal  black 

hair? — Let  us  alone,"  said  Thomas,  turning  to  the  intendant,  "we 

understand  each  other  very  well.     Do  n't  we,  brother  ?     You  're  a 

brother,  and  I  'in  one,  too.     Ha !  the  world  's  wisely  arranged  ! 

-    19 


434  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

You  must  n't  think  I  've  been  drinking ;  I  've  taken  something,  it  's 
true,  but  that  doesn't  hurt  me — I  'm  as  sober  as  a  judge.  Now 
let  me  tell  you  what  my  plan  is  :  I  '11  listen  to  reason,  to  anything 
that 's  fair  and  just ;  I  can  see  that  you  're  a  decent  fellow,  for  you 
come  to  me  of  your  own  accord." 

"We  wish  to  enquire  whether  you  know  anything  of  the  lady  in 
the  blue  riding-habit  who  was  here  ?  "  said  the  intendant  in  the 
proper  dialect. 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  Thomas,  "how  finely  he  talks;  but  I  can 
understand  priest  German,  and  judge's  German,  too.  I  've  had 
enough  to  do  with  those  people  already.  But  you  'd  better  not  in- 
terfere ; "  and  then,  turning  to  Bruno,  he  added  :  "  Let  us  two 
talk  together,  alone.  Now  listen,  brother ;  this  is  what  we  '11  do  : 
You  need  n't  make  a  count  of  me ;  all  you  need  do  is  to  give  me 
sen-ants  and  horses,  and  enough  money  and  chamois  and  deer, 
and  you  '11  soon  see  how  clever  and  strong  and  hearty  I  am. 
Would  you  like  to  wrestle  with  me  ?  or  come  out  into  the  woods, 
and  I  '11  show  you  that  I  can  shoot  better  than  you  can.  Now,  all 
you  need  do  is  to  give  me  either  your  sister's  inheritance  or  my 
sister's,  and  you  '11  see  we  '11  be  a  couple  of  merry  brothers  ! " 

Bruno  hardly  knew  whether  he  was  dreaming  or  awake.  Some 
of  the  insolent  fellow's  words  were  clear  enough  to  him,  others  he 
could  not  understand.  He  motioned  the  intendant  to  withdraw, 
and  then  said  in  a  gentle  voice  : 

"Thomas,  I  know  you  now  ;  sit  down." 

Thomas  seated  himself  on  the  bench,  and,  raising  the  brandy  jug 
which  he  had  bought  with  the  money  received  for  the  hat,  said  : 

"  Won  't  you  drink  something  ?  " 

Bruno  declining,  Thomas  took  a  long  draught. 

The  intendant  said  to  Bruno,  in  French,  that  there  was  no  infor- 
mation to  be  obtained  from  that  quarter,  and  that  he  had  secretly 
charged  the  guide  to  hold  fast  to  the  wild  fellow  so  that,  unmo- 
lested, they  might  return  to  the  valley. 

'•  What  sort  of  gibberish  is  the  simpleton  talking,  there?  "  cried 
Thomas,  preparing  to  rush  at  the  intendant.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  guide  threw  himself  on  Thomas,  and  held  him  fast, 
while  the  two  gentlemen  left  the  hut  and  hurried  down  the  moun- 
tain. 

It  was  not  until  the  guide  again  came  up  with  them,  that  they 
paused  and  Bruno  ventured  to  draw  a  long  breath.  The  guide 
now  told  them  how  Thomas  had  raged,  and  how  he  had  called  out 
for  the  gun  which  he  had  hidden  in  the  wood,  and  that  he  had  said 
he  must  shoot  his  brother-in-law. 

"  The  best  thing  the  fellowr  could  do,"  said  the  guide,  "  would  be 
to  drink  himself  to  death,  so  as  to  save  himself  from  being  hanged." 

After  some  time,  Bruno  ventured  to  ask  the  intendant,  in  a 
whisper,  whether  they  had  not  proceeded  far  enough  with  their 
investigation,  and  whether  it  was  not  best  to  return  at  once. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  435 

The  intendant  was  silent.  Bruno  looked  at  him  again  with  that 
bitter  expression  which  might  also  pass  for- grief. 

The  intendant,  who  saw'  that  Bruno  was  almost  broken  down, 
consented  to  return. 

CHAPTER     XII. 

1^  H  E  two  friends  returned  to  the  inn.  On  their  way,  they  met  one 
of  the  grooms  who  had  brought  their  horses,  and  who  now  told 
them  of  a  boatman  .who  had  informed  him  that  the  body  of  a  wo- 
man had  been  dragged  from  the  lake.  It  had  been  near  the  vil- 
lage, of  which  a  few  scattered  houses  and  the  church  steeple 
were  visible  on  the  opposite  shore. 

The  intendant  embraced  Bruno,  who  seemed  staggered  at  the 
news.  They  sat  down  for  awhile,  in  the  very  spot  where  they  had 
been  when  the  news  reached  them.  The  groom  said  that,  by  boat, 
they  could  reach  the  village  in  one  hour ;  but  that  if  they  went  by 
land,  it  would  take  them  several  hours. 

"  I  can't  cross  the  water,"  said  Bruno,  "  I  can't  to-day  ;  Schoning, 
do  n't  ask  it  of  me  !  Do  n't  force  me  !  Why  do  you  torment  me 
so  ?  "  he  asked,  impatiently.  , 

The  intendant  well  knew  that  deep  grief  makes  men  unreason- 
able. In  the  dark  depths  of  their  hearts,  there  still  lurks  a  feeling 
of  anger,  even  towards  those  who  most  thoroughly  sympathize 
with  them,  but  who,  themselves,  have  been  spared  by  misfortune. 

"  I  take  no  offense  at  anything  you  do,"  he  replied,  "and  though 
you  treat  me  rudely,  I  shall  bear  it.  I  understand  you,  and  am  far 
from  wishing  to  induce  you  to  cross  the  lake.  We  '11  ride." 

Their  horses  were  brought,  and  they  rode  off  in  the  direction  of 
the  village  that  had  been  pointed  out  to  them.  They  passed  an  inn 
where  a  crowd  of  merry  wagoners,  boatmen  and  woodcutters  were 
sitting  under  the  lindens,  and  drinking  beer  or  brandy.  Bruno  felt 
that  he  was  being  treated  like  a  fever  patient  whom  they  were 
dragging  over  hill  and  dale,  and  to  whose  clouded  vision  the  world 
seemed  bare  and  desolate.  When  they  reached  the  inn,  his  mouth 
watered.  He  thirsted  for  drink ;  perhaps  it  might  give  him  new 
strength  and,  what  was  still  better,  might  enable  him  to  forget. 
But  he  did  not  venture  to  express  his  wish  to  his  friend.  Was  it 
proper  for  one  in  his  position  to  drink  brandy?  A  poacher,  like 
Thomas,  might  do  so ;  but  it  would  ill  befit  a  cavalier.  While 
thanking  the  intendant  for  the  trouble  he  had  given  him,  and  prom- 
ising that  he  would  never  forget  it,  Bruno,  whose  tongue  was 
parched  with  thirst,  secretly  cursed  the  friend  who  would  not  allow 
him  to  drink.  Ah,  how  fortunate  it  is  that  words  are  always  at 
command.  It  is  almost  as  fortunate  as  the  fact  that  horses  are 
properly  broken  in,  and  keep  up  their  pace  so  nicely  that  they  give 
one  no  trouble. 


436  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  friends  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace.  It  was  high  noon  when 
they  reached  the  village  which  Hansei  and  his  family  had  left  two 
days  before.  The  landlord  of  the  Chamois  was  standing  at  the 
door,  and  respectfully  saluted  the  two  horsemen  with  the  groom 
behind  them. 

They  alighted.  Bruno  handed  the  reins  of  his  steaming  horse 
to  the  groom.  The  intendant  led  his  friend  into  the  front  garden, 
where  they  sat  down.  He  then  insisted  on  Bruno's  taking  a  glass 
of  wine.  The  host  quickly  brought  a  sealed  bottle,  and  vaunted 
it  as  the  best  wine  in  the  house.  He  also  brought  some  roast  meat 
and  placed  it  on  the  table,  and,  as  long  as  he  had  brought  it,  it 
must  be  paid  for,  even  though  it  were  not  touched. 

The  intendant  took  the  host  aside  and,  in  a  whisper,  asked  hinv 
whether  it  was  true  that  the  body  of  a  woman  had  been  cast  ashore 
near  there. 

The  host  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  with  a  smile  of  satis- 
faction. The  occurrence  was  a  strange  and  unusual  one,  and  it 
was  only  right  that  it  should  enure  to  his  great  profit.  The  in- 
tendant again  asked  him  where  the  house  was  in  which  the  body 
lay. 

"  I  '11  take  you  there,"  said  the  host,  with  a  smile. 

"Send  for  the  burgomaster,  also." 

"There  's  no  need  of  that ;  I  'm  a  member  of  the  council,"  said 
he,  hurrying  into  the  house  and  returning  with  his  long  coat  and 
his  medal.  He  meant  to  let  the  gentlemen  see  with  whom  they  had 
to  do.  He  felt  sure  that  they  must  be  people  of  quality,  or  else 
they  would  n't  be  traveling  with  a  groom,  and  would  have  said: 
"  Take  your  meat  away ;  we  shan't  pay  for  it !  "  He  even  fancied 
that  he  knew  one  of  them. 

"Begging  your  pardon,"  said  he  to  the  intendant,  "but  some 
years  ago,  there  was  a  painter  here  who  looked  enough  like  you  to 
be  your  brother." 

The  intendant  well  knew  that  it  was  himself  who  was  referred 
to,  but  he  was  not  yet  in  the  mood  to  renew  the  acquaintance. 

The  host  accompanied  the  strangers  to  Hansei's  house. 

On  the  way  there,  he  said:  "She  was  a  handsome  creature. 
She  was  beautiful,  but  good-for-nothing ;  and  her  belongings  were 
as  bad  as  she  was  :  particularly  her  one  brother." 

The  intendant  beckoned  the  innkeeper  to  be  quiet.  Bruno  bit 
his  lips  until  they  bled.  They  found  it  almost  impossible  to  force 
their  way  through  the  crowd  which  had  gathered  in  the  garden  and 
about  the  road.  There  were  wailing  woman,  crying  children,  and 
cursing  men. 

"  Make  way  there  !  "  cried  he  host.  He  walked  on  forcing  a 
passage  for  the  two  men,  and  Bruno  heard  some  one  behind  hiir 
say  :  ••  The  handsome  man,  with  the  large  moustache,  is  the  king.' 

"  No  he  is  n't ;  it 's  his  cousin  !  "  said  another. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  437 

They  had  entered  the  garden.  Bruno  leaned  against  the  cherry 
tree,  and  the  intendant  motioned  to  the  host  to  allow  his  comrade 
to  rest  for  a  little  while.  Everything  seemed  to  swim  before  Bruno's 
eyes.  Something  touched  him,  and  he  started  with  fear.  It  was 
.-i  dead  leaf  which  had  fallen  from  the  tree  above.  At  last,  address- 
ing Schoning  in  French,  he  said  : 

"What  good  will  it  do  the  dead,  if  I  look  at  her?  And  it  will 
harm  me  forever,  for  I  shall  never  be  able  to  banish  the  sight  frorr 
my  memory ! " 

"  You  must  go  in,  my  friend.  Remember  that  these  people  have 
made  every  effort  in  their  power  to  restore  to  life  one  who  was  a 
stranger  to  them,  and  they  have  done  this  out  of  pure  philan- 
throphy." 

"  Well,  we  can  give  them  money  for  that ;  but  why  torment  our- 
selves with  these  dead  remains  ?  " 

But  Bruno  was,  nevertheless,  obliged  to  go  in  ;  leaning  on  his 
friend's  arm,  he  entered  the  house. 

Black  Esther  now  lay  in  the  very  spot  where  Hansel  had  been 
two  days  ago,  when  thinking  of  her.  Her  thick,  glossy  black  hair 
had  fallen  over  her  face ;  her  mouth  was  open — the  last  cry  that 
Irma  had  heard  still  rested  there. 

"Esther  !  "  cried  Bruno,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  It  is  n't  your  sister  !  "  said  the  intendant  consolingly.  "  Come, 
let  us  be  off." 

Biuno  could  not  move  from  the  spot. 

''  Yes  !  sister  !  "  cried  the  old  woman,  who  now  rose  up  from  be- 
side the  corpse;  "yes,  sister.  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  let  her  alone, 
even  if  she  did  help  the  beautiful  lady  ?  Did  n't  I  tell  you  she  'd 
kill  herself,  if  you  beat  her  again  ?  And  now  you  've  had  your  own 
way,  and  here  she  is,  lying  in  this  house !  Oh,  this  house,  this 
house  !  The  lake  will  wash  it  away  yet.  Lake  !  take  the  whole 
house  !  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  cried,  springing 
up  and  seizing  Bruno's  arm.  "  Who  are  you  with  the  black  hands  ? 
let  me  see  who  you  are — it 's  you,  is  it  ?  you  who  did  n't  want  to 
see  your  father  die — and  what  do  you  want  of  my  Esther  ?  Great 
God  ! — now  I  see  it  all.  You  were  the  one,  you  !  say  you  were  ! 
— say  it —  !  Do  n't  shut  your  eyes,  or  I  '11  scratch  them  out  for  all. 
It  was  you — I  '11  drive  a  nail  into  your  brain,  into  the  cursed  brain 
that  forgot  her  !  Oh,  why  did  n't  I  know  it  before  !  But  there  's 
tin\2  enough  yet.  My  Thomas  has  already  aimed  at  you — and 
he  '11  have  a  chance  again — " 

Bruno  fainted.  The  intendant  caught  him  in  his  arms,  but 
could  npt  support  his  weight  and,  therefore,  laid  him  down  on  the 
same  floor  on  which  lay  the  dead  body  of  Esther.  The  innkeeper 
hurried  out  to  fetch  water,  and  when  they  opened  the  door,  several 
people  entered  from  without,  among  them  Doctor  Sixtus,  Doctor 
Kumpan,  the  notary,  and  Baum. 


438  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Sixtus  soon  restored  Bruno  to  consciousness.  A  glance  sufficed  to 
inform  Baum  of  what  had  happened.  He  supported  himself  against 
a  door  post,  holding  fast  with  desperate  grip,  lest  he  should  fall  to 
the  ground.  At  the  first  opportunity,  he  glided  out  of  the  room. 
He  was  not  needed  there,  and  if  he  were  now  to  betray  himself, 
all  might  be  lost.  He  dragged  himself  as  far  as  the  cherry  tree, 
sat  down  on  the  bench,  buttoned  his  gaiters,  unbuttoned  them, 
took  out  his  watch,  counted  the  seconds,  wound  it  up  again,  held 
it  to  his  ear  and  carelessly  played  with  the  watch  chain.  He 
stopped  to  consider.  One  great  task  still  remains,  thought  he  to 
himself,  and  that  I  must  accomplish  unaided.  He  felt  that  he  had 
a  clue  to  Irma's  whereabouts.  Sixtus  would  n't  listen  to  such  a 
thing  and  ridiculed  him.  So  much  the  better;  the  credit  would 
all  fall  to  his  share ;  and  for  that  reason,  this  was  no  time  to  worry 
about  his  mother.  His  sister  was  dead,  and  perhaps  it  was  for  the 
best.  At  any  rate,  he  could  n't  restore  her  to  life ;  but,  at  some 
future  day,  he  could,  without  discovering  himself,  provide  for  the 
old  woman. 

Baum  felt  proud  of  his  firmness,  and  stroked  his  chin  with  satis- 
faction. 

Within  the  house,  the  excitement  was  not  yet  at  an  end.  The 
old  woman  howled,  shrieked,  ran  about  the  room,  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  cried :  "  Strike  him  dead !  Drown  him,  he  drowned 
her!" 

Baum  let  his  watch  drop  from  his  hand  when  he  heard  these 
words.  The  old  woman  was  dragged  away  from  the  window,  and 
Doctor  Kumpan  held  her  fast.  She  went  back  to  the  corpse. 

"  Strike  us  all  dead  !  "  she  cried,  "  there  's  no  king  on  earth,  and 
no  God  in  Heaven  !  " 

The  old  woman  raved ;  then  she  would  weep,  and  then  would 
again  go  back  to  her  child. 

"Your  lips  are  open  !  Say  but  a  word  !  only  one  'yes,'  before 
these  witnesses  !  speak  his  name  !  he  ruined  you  and  left  you  to 
perish  in  misery  !  They  don't  believe  me.  Say,  you  !"  she  ex- 
claimed, addressing  the  intendant  and  seizing  him  at  the  same 
time,  "  say,  did  n't  he  utter  her  name  and  confess  it  all  ?  Is  noth- 
ing to  be  done  to  one  who  leads  a  poor  creature  into  misery  and 
drives  her  to  death  ?  Speak  !"  said  she  turning  to  Bruno.  "  Here  ! 
take  the  ring  your  sister  gave  me  !  I  want  nothing  from  any  of 
you ! " 

Shrieking  and  groaning,  she  again  threw  herself  upon  the  corpse. 

Bruno  was  at  last  led  away.  He  was  as  pale  as  death  ;  his  face 
had  been  marked  by  his  black  gloves.  They  placed  him  upon  the 
seat  under  the  cherry  tree.  Baum  rose  and  brought  some  water, 
so  that  Bruno  might  wash  his  face.  He  was  astonished  when  he 
saw  the  white  handkerchief  which  had  been  blackened  by  the  spots 
upon  his  face. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  439 

They  went  back  to  the  inn.  Like  a  fearful  child,  Bruno  never  re- 
laxed his  hold  of  the  intendant's  hand.  At  every  sound  he  heard,  he 
fancied  that  the  old  woman  was  coming  to  scratch  out  his  eyes  and 
to  tear  out  his  heart.  At  last  he  regained  his  composure  and 
asked  the  intendant  what  he  had  said  on  seeing  the  corpse. 
Schoning  replied  that  he  had  called  out  "  Schwester  "  (sister),  and 
that  the  old  woman,  who  had  understood  him  to  say  Esther,  h;id 
grown  quite  frantic  in  consequence. 

Bruno  felt  comforted  to  learn  that  he  had  not  betrayed  himself. 
He,  nevertheless,  set  aside  a  considerable  sum  for  the  lifelong  sup- 
port of  the  old  woman  from  whom  Irma  had  received  her  last 
shelter. 

"Oh,  my  friend  !  "  said  he  to  the  intendant,  "as  long  as  I  live,  I 
shall  never  forget  the  image  of  that  drowned  girl !  " 

Bruno  was  so  exhausted  that  he  was  unable  to  ride  his  horse.  Doc- 
tor Sixtus's  carriage  was  in  readiness  and  he  got  into  it,  in  order  to 
accompany  him  back  to  the  capital.  The  doctor  gave  Bruno  the 
poor  consolation  that  Irma's  body  would  not  be  recovered.  That 
of  the  abandoned  girl  had  floated  on  the  surface.  Ijma,  however 
— as  he  had  already  said, — must  have  been  kept  down  by  her  long 
riding-habit,  and  would,  therefore,  never  be  found. 

When  taking  leave  of  Bruno,  the  intendant  said  : 

"Now  I  know  how  great  a  heart  you  have." 

Bruno  merely  nodded  in  reply.  He  did  not  object.  It  might  be 
well  if  the  intendant  were  to  say  the  same  thing  at  court. 

When  they  repaired  to  the  carriage,  the  whole  region  was  ob- 
scured by  a  misty  rain  ;  neither  mountain  nor  lake  were  distinguish- 
able. Just  as  they  were  starting,  Bruno  called  Baum  to  him  and 
gave  him  his  coat  with  a  red  collar,  for  Baum  was  to  mount 
Bruno's  horse  and  ride  it  home.  The  intendant  rode  back,  ac- 
companied by  Baum.  He  told  the  lackey  to  remain  beside  him, 
instead  of  following. 

"  These  are  fearful  goings  on,"  said  Baum,  addressing  the  intend- 
ant. 

"  Yes,  terrible.  I  think  the  mother  of  the  drowned  girl  must  be 
crazed." 

"  Sir,"  resumed  Baum,  "  there  is  something  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you  about.  I  think  that  may  be  the  Countess  is  n't  drowned, 
after  all.  The  court  physician  has  laughed  at  me,  but  I  have  a 
clue,  and — " 

The  report  of  a  gun  was  heard.     Baum  fell  from  his  horse. 

"  I  Ve  hit  you  this  time  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

Thomas  rushed  forth  from  the  thicket. 

"  Take  me  !  "  cried  he,  "  I  caught  him  after — " 

At  that  moment,  he  saw  Baum's  body  lying  on  the  ground.  In 
a  furious  voice,  he  cried  : 

"  1  meant  to  shoot  Bruno,  and  now  it 's  you  !  you  !  " 


440  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"Brother!  my  brother!"  gasped  Baum.  "I  'm  Wolfgang! 
Your  brother  Jangerl — Wolfgang — Zenza — my  mother —  !  " 

Thomas  rushed  back  into  the  thicket  and,  in  an  instant,  the  re- 
port of  another  shot  was  heard. 

The  intendant  was  in  despair.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents.  Baum 
gave  one  more  convulsive  start.  Presently,  a  merry  crowd  passed 
by ;  it  was  the  excursion  party  they  had  met  early  that  morning. 
The  ladies  were  horror-struck  and  hastened  away  ;  the  gentlemen 
remained  to  assist  the  intendant.  Peasants  were  called  from  the 
fields  to  carry  Baum's  body  back  to  the  village ;  others  searched 
the  thicket,  and  soon  brought  out  the  lifeless  body  of  Thomas. 

The  intendant  met  the  notary  in  the  village,  and  gave  him  a  full 
report  of  all  that  had  happened.  Before  long,  the  whole  village  had 
gathered  at  the  Chamois.  It  was  no  unimportant  event,  for  three 
of  one  family  to  be  dead  at  once.  No  one  would  confess  to  sur- 
prise that  Baum  had  turned  out  to  be  Wolfgang.  They  all  de- 
clared that  they  had  recognized  him  long  ago,  even  when  he  had 
come  with  Doctor  Sixtus  to  take  Walpurga  away. 

The  intendant  and  the  innkeeper  sat  up  late  that  night.  The 
former  had  discovered  himself  as  the  painter  who  had  been  a  guest 
at  the  inn  in  times  gone  by.  The  host  had  much  to  tell  about 
Hansei  and  Walpurga,  and  one  can  readily  conceive  the  tone  in 
which  he  spoke  of  them. 

When  they  told  Zenza  what  had  happened,  she  listened  with  a 
stolid,  stupefied  air ;  nor  did  she  seem  to  understand  them  when 
they  told  her  that  the  Count  had  left  money  for  her  and  had  promised 
always  to  take  care  of  her.  She  burst  into  a  shrill  laugh,  and 
when  food  was  brought,  greedily  ate  all  that  was  placed  before  her. 

Baum,  Thomas,  and  Black  Esther  were  buried  in  one  grave. 

CHAPTER     XIII. 

THE  king  was  at  the  hunt.     The  queen  was  ill.     Life  at  court 
went  on  as  usual.     The  ladies  and  gentlemen  dined  at  the 
marshal's  table,  and   conversed  upon  different  subjects.      They 
were  cheerful,  for  it  was  their  duty  to  maintain  the  accustomed 
tone. 

It  was  the  fourth  day  after  the  receipt  of  the  terrible  news.  It 
was  after  dinner,  and  the  ladies  were  sitting  under  the  so-called 
"mushroom, "a  round,  vine-covered  arbor,  situated  at  the  edge 
of  the  mountain  vineyards.  The  roof  rested,  at  the  centre,  on 
a  column  and,  in  the  distance,  resembled  an  open  umbrella,  or  a 
gigantic  mushroom.  They  were  delighted  to  have  a  chance  to  talk 
of  the  preparations  for  the  betrothal  of  Princess  Angelica.  They 
spoke  in  praise  of  her  noble  traits,  although  she  was  merely  a 
simple,  modest,  good-hearted  girl.  They  had  the  court  catechism, 
the  genealogical  calendar,  before  them  ;  for  dispute  had  arisen  as 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  441 

to  the  degree  in  which  the  mediatized  Prince  Arnold  was  related, 
on  his  grandmother's  side,  to  the  reigning  house.  Their  conver- 
sation, however,  was  simply  a  makeshift. 

Some  one  remarked  that  the  intendant  had  returned  from  his 
journey.  No  one,  however,  knew  what  adventures  he  had  passed 
through.  They  all  knew  that  there  had  been  deaths  by  shooting 
and  drowning,  but  as  to  the  "who"  and  the  "how,"  they  were  as 
yet  ignorant. 

They  felt  quite  happy  when  they  saw  the  intendant  coming  in 
person.  They  welcomed  him  in  a  half-pitying,  half-teasing  tone. 
He  seemed  quite  exhausted  by  his  recent  experiences.  They  of- 
fered him  the  most  comfortable  chair  and,  placing  it  in  the  centre 
of  the  group,  begged  him  to  tell  them  everything.  Although  this 
general  homage  was  not  without  a  touch  of  irony,  the  intendant 
felt  quite  flattered  by  it,  and  was,  as  usual,  ready  to  play  the  agree- 
able. He  was  always  willing  to  sacrifice  everything,  not  excepting 
himself,  for  the  sake  of  being  in  favor. 

He  began  by  telling  them  of  Bruno's  deep  grief;  but  that  did 
not  interest  them.  Very  well — "as  you  don't  care  to  hear  of 
Bruno,  we  '11  pass  him  by."  He  then  went  on  to  give  a  cleverly 
arranged  account  of  the  terrible  death  of  Baum  who,  like  a  true 
servant,  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  his  life  for  another.  However, 
the  death  had  not  been  an  undeserved  one,  for  he  had  denied  his 
mother  and  kindred,  and,  at  last,  fell  by  the  hand  of  his  own 
brother,  who  immediately  afterward  killed  himself. 

The  intendant's  audience  were  horror-struck,  and  found  it  won- 
drous strange  that  so  much  of  the  adventurous  was  concealed  in  a 
common-place,  every-day  lackey,  like  Baum. 

"  You  have  at  last  beheld  a  tragedy  in  real  life,"  said  one  of  the 
ladies. 

The  intendant  well  knew  that  tragedies  were  no  longer  in  favor, 
and,  in  his  anxiety  to  please,  recounted  some  very  interesting  re- 
ports about  Walpurga,  giving,  as  his  authority,  the  host  of  the 
Chamois,  an  honest,  upright  man,  who  had  been  decorated  for  his 
services  in  the  wars.  Whether  it  was  real  or  affected  forgetful- 
ness  on  their  part,  it  is  impossible  to  say, — but  the  ladies  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  that  Walpurga  had  ever  existed — but  who  can 
remember  all  one's  subordinates  ?f 

For  want  of  some  other  safe  topic  of  conversation,  they  listened 
to  various  droll  stories  about  Walpurga  and  her  dolt  of  a  husband. 
Schoning,  to  use  his  own  words,  simply  repeated  all  that  the  ve- 
racious and  upright  host  of  the  Chamois  had  told  him.  Hansei 
was  described  as  an  awkward  bumpkin,  unable  to  use  his  hands  or 
feet,  and  obliged  to  call  the  schoolmaster  to  his  assistance  when- 
ever he  found  it  necessary  to  count  the  smallest  sum  of  money. 
One  of  these  stories,  introducing  a  wager  and  a  chamber  window, 
was  quite  piquant  and  greatly  to  the  taste  of  the  ladies.  They 
19* 


442  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

tittered,  and  scolded  the  intendant  for  talking  of  such  things,  but 
Schoning  well  knew  that  the  more  they  scolded,  the  better  they 
were  pleased  with  what  he  had  told  them.  He  found  an  added 
pleasure  in  the  opportunity  afforded  him  of  using  the  dialect  of 
the  mountain  region  from  which  he  had  but  recently  returned,  and 
cleverly  imitated  the  voices  of  the  peasants  and  peasant  women 
who  had  stood  before  the  window,  on  the  night  referred  to.  He 
introduced  various  forcible  and  unequivocal  expressions,  and 
greatly  enjoyed  shocking  the  ladies,  who  would,  now  and  then, 
cry:  "Oh,  you  horrid  man!  you  terrible  man!"  One  lady 
actually  pricked  him  with  her  needle,  but  he  quietly  proceeded 
with  his  story,  well  knowing  how  delighted  they  were  to  listen 
to  it. 

And  if  there  was  no  harm  in  describing  Hansei  as  a  dolt,  there 
was  just  as  little  in  heightening  the  colors  in  which  Walpurgawas 
depicted — the  petticoats  of  the  peasant  women  are  always  shorter 
upon  the  stage  than  they  are  in  real  life — and  thus,  with  the  kind- 
est feeling  towards  all  and  merely  yielding  to  his  desire  to  please, 
the  intendant  said  all  sorts  of  strange  things  about  Walpurga.  It 
had  been  rumored,  he  added,  that  it  was  not  without  cause  that 
the  pastor  had  called  her  into  the  vestry-room  on  the  first  Sunday 
after  her  return. 

With  cautious  reserve,  he  at  last  confided  to  them,  as  a  great 
secret,  the  story  that  Walpurga  had  received  immense  sums  of 
money  from  a  certain  lady  who  had  been  a  friend  of  hers.  It  was, 
of  course,  impossible  to  assign  a  reason  for  such  gifts,  but  it  was 
rtell  known  that  the  money  had  been  used  to  purchase  a  large 
farm.  They  had,  indeed,  been  obliged  to  remove  from  their  old 
home ;  for,  even  in  the  country,  ill-gotten  wealth  disgraces  its 
possessors.  It  had  been  the  talk  of  the  whole  neighborhood. 
The  bailiff  had  also  confirmed  the  report  that  the  whole  purchase 
had  been  paid  for  in  ready  money,  and  that  the  price  had  been 
more  than  six  times  as  much  as  Walpurga  had  received  for  her 
services  as  nurse. 

The  intendant  again  remarked  that  he  did  not  mean  to  calum- 
niate any  one, — that  really  nothing  was  further  from  his  inten- 
tions ; — but  he  was  determined  to  be  interesting,  even  though  it 
was  at  the  expense  of  others,  as^well  as  himself. 

They  were  delighted  to  know  that  this  dressed-up  specimen  of 
rural  innocence  was  at  last  exposed,  and  only  hoped  that  the  queen 
might  also  behold  her  favorite  in  her  true  colors. 

Care  was  taken  that  she  should  not  be  left  in  ignorance  of  the 
story. 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

''PHE  king  was  hunting  in  the  Highlands.     He  was  a  veritable 
1    sportsman,  and,  instead  of  allowing  his  retainers  to  beat  up 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  443 

the  game  and  drive  it  within  shooting  distance,  would  climb  the 
dizziest  heights  while  in  quest  of  the  chamois.  His  hardened  and 
elastic  frame  enabled  him  to  sustain  any  amount  of  fatigue  or  ex- 
posure, and  gained  sinewy  strength  and  new  ardor  from  the  chase. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  party  felt  sure  that  some  important  matter 
engaged  the  king's  mind,  and  were  not  a  little  puzzled  how  to  ac- 
count for  Bronnen's  constant  and  almost  exclusive  attendance  upon 
the  king. 

It  was  well  known  that  Bronnen  had  declined  to  take  charge  of 
the  war  office  under  the  Schnabelsdorf  ministry,  and  now  it  was 
asserted  that  Schnabelsdorf  was  at  a  disadvantage  ;  for  he  was 
only  master  of  the  green  table  and  was  unable  to  attend  the  hunt. 
Bronnen  thus  had  the  king's  ear  for  several  days. 

Rifles  were  heard  on  the  heights,  and  many  a  beast  was  killed  ; 
rifles  were  heard  in  the  valley,  and  two  brothers  met  their  death. 
In  the  meanwhile,  the  capital  was  filled  with  murmurs  that 
sounded  like  the  roar  of  mighty  ocean.  The  queen  heard  noth- 
ing of  all  this.  In  her  apartments,  all  was  quiet ;  not  a  footfall 
was  heard,  naught  but  occasional  faint  whisperings. 

The  queen  had  felt  outraged  by  the  manner  in  which  the  news- 
paper she  had  read,  referred  to  Eberhard's  death  ;  and  yet  the  ar- 
ticle had  been  mild  and  reserved  when  compared  with  the  utter- 
ances of  the  people. 

They  reported  affairs  at  court  as  in  a  terrible  state  ;  it  was  even 
said  that  the  queen  had  lost  her  reason  when  she  heard  the  news 
of  Countess  Wildenort's  death. 

People  little  knew  how  much  of  truth  lay  in  this  rumor.  The 
night  that  Irma  had  spent  wandering  over  hill  and  dale,  was  not 
half  so  terrible  as  the  thoughts  that  filled  the  queen's  mind. 

She  hated  and  abhorred  Irma,  and  yet  envied  her  her  death.  A 
queen  dare  not  commit  suicide,  for  that  were  without  precedent. 
A  queen  must  patiently  submit,  while  they  slowly  kill  her  accord- 
ing to  the  forms  of  etiquette — must  suffer  herself,  as  it  were,  to  be 
embalmed  while  yet  alive.  And,  even  then,  they  do  not  bury  her. 
No — they  simply  deposit  her  in  a  vault ;  dignity  must  not  be 
sacrificed,  and,  above  all,  there  must  be  no  queenly  suicide.  They 
offered  to  bring  .her  child  ;  but  she  refused  to  see  it,  for  Irma  had 
kissed  it.  She  would  rub  her  cheeks  again  and  again  ;  they  were 
impure,  they  burned,— for  Irma  had  kissed  them. 

Love,  friendship,  faith,  fidelity,  nature,  painting,  music,  eloquence 
— all  were  dead  to  her,  for  Irma  had  possessed  them  all,  and  now 
all  was  a  lie  and  a  caricature. 

The  queen  started  from  her  seat  with  a  shudder.  She  had  been 
thinking  of  the  king,  and  felt  sure  that  his  remorse  must  goad 
him  to  self-destruction.  He  could  not  support  the  thought  that 
she  whom  he  had  ruined  had  still  enough  of  courage  and  righteous- 
ness left  to  give  up  her  life.  How  could  he  live  after  that  ?  How 
could  he  aim  his  gun  at  an  innocent  beast,  instead  of  at  himself? 


444  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  whose  name  is  on  the  lips  of  multitudes  to  whom  he  owes 
duties,  may  not  lay  hands  upon  himself.  But  what  right  had  he 
to  indulge  in  conduct  which  must  drag  him  down  from  his  exalted 
position  ?  To  whom  could  he  look  for  truth,  when  he  himself — ? 

The  queen's  thoughts  almost  drove  her  mad. 

People  said  that  the  queen  was  crazed — it  seemed  as  if  a  vague 
feeling  had  informed  them  of  the  yawning  abyss  that  opened  before 
her. 

She  gave  orders  that  no  one  should  be  admitted.  She  smiled  at 
the  thought  that  she  could  still  command,  and  that  there  were  still 
some  left  to  obey  her.  After  some  time,  she  sent  for  Doctor  Gun- 
ther.  He  appeared  at  once,  for  he  had  been  waiting  in  the  ante- 
room. 

The  queen  found  it  a  great  relief  to  confide  to  him  the  thoughts 
that  so  bewildered  and  confused  her,  but  she  could  not  force  her- 
self to  say  that  she  still  felt  how  the  king  loved  her — that  is,  as  far 
as  his  wavering,  restless  nature  would  permit  the  existence  of 
what  might  be  termed  love.  She  confessed  everything  to  Gunther, 
except  that — she  felt  ashamed  that  she  could  still  associate  the 
thought  of  love  with  that  of  the  king. 

"Ah,  my  friend  ! "  said  she,  at  last,  in  a  sad  tone,  "is  there  no 
chloroform  for  the  soul,  or  for  a  part  of  it  ? — a  few  drops  of  Lethe  ? 
Teach  me  to  forget  things,  to  blunt  my  sensibility ;  my  thoughts 
will  kill  me." 

According  to  his  usual  practice,  Gunther  thought  it  best  to  pro- 
duce an  entire  change  of  tone,  instead  of  attempting  to  patch  and 
mend  the  constitution  at  every  fresh  attack.  He  felt  that,  as  soon 
as  the  queen  had  learned  to  think  and  feel  differently,  his  path 
would  be  clear.  Instead  of  offering  to  console  her,  he  simply  aided 
her  in  developing  her  thoughts,  while  he  revealed  to  her  the  causes 
that  underlie  all  human  action.  He  treated  the  subject  according 
to  the  great  maxim  of  the  solitary  philosopher  who  claimed  that  all 
human  actions  are  directed  by  the  laws  of  nature.  With  those  who 
have  attained  to  a  proper  conception  and  understanding  of  these 
laws,  the  idea  of  forgiveness  is  out  of  the  question.  It  may,  indeed, 
be  regarded  as  included  in  the  admission  of  necessity. 

It  was  thus  that  Gunther  endeavored,  as  it  were,  to  clear  away 
the  rubbish  and  the  smoking  ruins  that  were  left  after  a  fire.  The 
fitful  llames  would,  however,  still  burst  forth,  here  and  there. 

Th^  queen  complained  that  all  seemed  chaos  to  her,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  declare  the  desire  to  be  virtuous  as  mere  folly. 
The  only  comfort  that  Gunther  offered  her,  was  that  he  also  knew 
the  utter  wretchedness  of  despair.  He  was  not  as  one  who,  feel- 
ing himself  secure  from  danger,  calls  out  to  him  who  wrestles  with 
the  agony  of  death:  "Come  to  me:  it  is  pleasant  to  be  here." 
He  was  a  companion  of  misery.  He  told  her  that  there  had  been 
a  period  when  he  had  not  only  despaired  of  his  heart,  and  believed 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  445 

neither  in  cures  nor  in  health,  but  had  even  lost  all  faith  in  the  wis- 
dom that  rules  the  universe. 

He  acted  on  the  principle  that  the  only  way  to  treat  the  despond- 
ent, is  to  show  them  that  others  have  suffered  and  yet  have  learned 
to  live. 

When  the  consciousness  of  this  truth  has  dawned  upon  the  af- 
flicted, there  is  new  light,  and  he  enters  upon  the  first  stage  of 
deliverance. 

"I  will  impart  the  saddest  confession  of  my  life  to  you,"  said 
Gunther. 

"  You  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  time  when  I  envied  the  frivolous,  and  even  the 
vicious,  their  light-heartedness.  I  desired  to  be  like  them.  Why 
burden  one's  soul  with  moral  considerations,  when  one  may  live  so 
pleasantly  while  seizing  the  joys  the  world  affords  us  ?  " 

Gunther  paused,  and  the  queen  looked  up  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. He  continued,  calmly: 

"  I  have  saved  myself,  and  my  rich  experience  has  convinced  me 
that  every  one  of  us,  even  though  he  strive  for  excellence,  has,  so 
to  say,  a  skeleton  closet  somewhere  in  his  soul.  There  must  have 
been  a  time,  if  only  a  moment,  when  his  thoughts  were  impure  or 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  committing  a  sin." 

As  if  reflecting  on  what  he  had  said,  the  queen  was  silent  for  a 
long  while,  and  at  last  said  : 

"  Tell  me  ;  are  there  any  happy  beings  in  this  world  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean,  are  there  beings  in  whom  inclination  and  destiny  are 
in  accord,  and  who  are,  at  the  same  time,  conscious  of  this  har- 
mony? " 

"  I  thank  you  !  I  see  that  you  are  endeavoring  to  express  your- 
self with  precision.  Your  Majesty  knows  that,  to  a  certain  extent, 
I  judge  persons  by  their  mode  of  forming  sentences.  It  is  not  so 
important  to  display  what  is  called  cleverness,  as  to  be  clear 
and  concise  in  what  one  has  to  say." 

The  queen  observed  that  her  friend  endeavored  to  lead  her  to 
take  a  larger  view  of  affairs,  and  to  assist  her  in  acquiring  self-com- 
mand ;  and,  with  a  sad  smile,  she  asked  : 

"  And  do  you  know  the  answer  to  my  question  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do  ;  Your  Majesty  knows  the  story  of  the  shirt  of  the 
happy  one?  " 

"I  do  not  quite  remember  it." 

"Well  then,  to  tell  it  in  as  few  words  as  possible:  A  certain 
king  was  ill,  and  it  was  said  that  he  could  not  recover  until  the 
shirt  of  a  happy  man  was  procured  for  him.  They  searched  and 
searched,  and  at  last  found  a  man  who  was  unspeakably  happy, 
and — he  had  no  shirt  to  his  back.  I  change  the  story  according 
1o  iny  own  conviction.  Were  I  a  poet,  I  would,  in  fancy,  wander 


446  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

from  house  to  house,  from  town  to  town,  from  country  to  country, 
describe  the  life  of  men  in  various  conditions,  and  point  out  that, 
\vith  all  their  complaining,  they  were,  nevertheless,  happy,  or,  at  all 
events,  as  happy  as  they  could  be.  Every  human  being  is  en- 
dowed with  a  certain  capacity  for  happiness,  the  measure  of  which 
is  regulated  by  his  nature.  It  is  this  which  determines  how  high 
or  how  deep,  his  joys  or  misfortunes  ;  how  blunt  or  how  keen, 
his  sensibility.  The  measure  of  happiness  assigned  to  every 
human  being  corresponds  to  the  requirements  of  his  nature. 
Un  happiness  is  necessary  in  order  that  we  may  appreciate  happi- 
ness, just  as  we  need  shadows  to  help  us  distinguish  the  light." 

"And  so  you  think  that  all  people  are  happy?  " 

"  They  are  so  in  truth,  but  not  in  reality.  The  reason  is,  they 
are  not  in  accord  with  the  requirements  of  their  nature,  and  are 
ever  seeking  for  happiness  in  that  which  they  have  not,  or  rather 
that  wh'.ch  they  are  not." 

"  I  do  not  quite  comprehend  that,  but  will  endeavor  to  do  so," 
replied  the  queen;  "but,  tell  me,  can  he  who  is  conscious  of  guilt 
also  be  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  he  acts  freely,  and  if  the  knowledge  of  his  guilt  makes 
him  more  forgiving  and  more  active  in  good  works.  Errors,  irreg- 
ularities, or  what  are  termed  faults,  are  the  result  of  excessive  or 
defective  endowment,  and  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  be  described 
as  the  basso  relievo  or  alto  relievo  of  character.  Faults  of  excess 
may  \x>  remedied  by  education  and  knowledge,  but  not  those  of 
deficiency.  Most  of  us,  however,  require  those  who  belong  to  us, 
and  all  whom  we  wish  to  be  noble  and  great,  to  fill  up  the  defects 
of  their  nature  ;  and  that  is  simply  requiring  the  impossible." 

The  queen  was  silent  for  some  time.  She  was  evidently  making 
the  Doctor's  thoughts  her  own. 

"I,  too,  have  a  bas-relief  fault,"  said  she,  at  last.  "My  desire 
to  forsake  the  religion  of  my  fathers  and  to  embrace  a  strange  faith 
subjected  me  to  deceit  and  estrangement,  and  I  regard  this  as  a 
punishment  visited  upon  me  by  God  or  nature.  It  was  this  that 
made  the  king  look  upon  me  as  weak  and  vacillating  and  impelled 
him  to  leave  me.  I  was  the  first  to  think  of  defection,  and  defec- 
tion at  last  became  my  punishment !  " 

The  queen  wept  while  uttering  these  words,  and  her  tears  were 
in  pity  for  herself. 

Gunther  remained  calm  and  quiet. 

The  queen  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  second  stage  of  knowl- 
ledge. 

"  The  mere  idea  of  renouncing  your  faith — and  Your  Majesty 
may  remember  that  I  never  approved  of  it — "  said  Gunther,  after 
a  long  pause,  "only  served  to  show  that  Your  Majesty  felt  the 
need  of  possessing  convictions  which  wrere  not  alone  in  accord 
with  your  nature,  but  were  also  the  outgrowth  of  it.  Every  clear 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  44} 

perception  of  truth,  every  conquest  over  pain,  is  a  transformation 
a  remodeling  of  existence,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  a  purifi- 
cation." 

"  I  understand,"  replied  the  queen.  "  Oh,  that  I  knew  the  sys- 
tem by  which  the  world  is  governed,  and  the  reasons  that  underlie 
human  destiny!  Why  was  I  obliged  to  experience  this?  Has  it 
made  me  any  better?  Will  it  inspire  me  to  nobler  actions? 
Would  I  not  have  been  far  better  if  my  life  had  remained  un- 
clouded ?  I  was  full  of  love  for  all  human  beings.  Ah,  it  was  p.o 
delightful  to  know  of  no  one  on  earth  who  was  my  enemy,  and  still 
more  delightful  to  know  no  one  whom  I  must  hate  and  detest ! 
And  what  am  I  to-day?  I  feel  as  if,  where'er  I  turn,  a  corpse 
lies  in  my  path.  There  is  no  free  spot  left  me  on  earth  !  You  are 
a  wise  man  ;  help  me  to  banish  these  terrible  thoughts  !  " 

"  I  am  not  wise  ;  and,  if  I  were,  I  could  not  bestow  my  wisdom 
upon  you.  It  was  a  saying  of  the  ancients,  that  others  can  show 
you  the  apples  of  the  Hesperides,  but  cannot  gather  them  for  you." 

"  Well,  well  !  be  it  so.  But  tell  me,  would  it  not  be  better  to 
grow  greater  and  nobler  and  stronger  in  virtue,  and  in  our  faith  in 
humanity?  " 

"  Childlike  innocence  is  happiness,  but  a  clear  perception  of  truth 
is  a  great  gain  and,  according  to  my  opinion,  a  necessary  and  en- 
during joy — " 

"You  avoid  my  question.  It  seems  to  me  that  you,  too,  are 
without  the  key." 

"  I  do  not  possess  it — Life  is  inexorable.  All  that  we  can  do  is 
to  bend  to  the  descending  storm,  and  yet  remain  steadfast.  Sun- 
shine will  come  again.  We  are  subject  to  the  lesser  law  of  our  own 
nature,  and  the  greater  law  that  embraces  the  universe.  •  There  is 
not  a  star  that  completes  its  course  without  deviation.  Surround- 
ing planets  attract  or  repel  it ;  but  yet  it  moves  on,  in  its  appointed 
course,  teaching  mankind  the  lesson  of  perseverance." 

"  You  offer  remedies,  and  yet  place  your  trust  in  the  healing 
powers  of  nature?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Gunther,  "nature  alone  can  help  us." 

After  awhile,  he  added  : 

"To  one  who  is  bowed  down  by  grief,  it  were  useless  to  suggest 
refreshing  wanderings  on  the  heights.  With  returning  strength, 
the  desire  will  return  ;  for  the  will  is  merely  the  outward  manifesta- 
tion of  inner  power.  Now,  while  bending  to  the  blow  which  has 
just  descended  upon  you,  you  are  clothed  and  sustained  by  the 
life-giving  power  of  nature.  It  is  this  that  sustains  existence  until 
we  again  awaken  to  life  and  free  action.  My  good  mother,  in  her 
devout  manner,  used  to  say:  'May  God  help  us,  until  we  can  help 
ourselves.'  " 

"  I  thank  you  !  "  said  the  queen.  "  I  thank  you,"  she  repeated, 
and  closed  her  eyes. 


448  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER     XV. 

ON  the  same  morning  on  which  the  king-  and  Bronnen  were 
closeted  together  at  the  hunting-seat,  the  queen  sent  for  Gun- 
ther.  He  found  her  clad  in  white  and  resting  on  her  couch.  She 
looked  pale  and  feeble,  and  told  him  how  provoked  she  felt  at  the 
vanity  and  conceit  which  had  induced  her,  a  young  queen,  to  regard 
herself  as  wise  and  good,  and  had  led  her  to  imagine  herself  as 
gifted  with  unusual  endowments. 

"  Did  you  know  of  what  was  going  on  here?"  she  asked  the 
physician. 

"  No ;  I  would  not  have  believed  it  possible,  and  it  is  only  now 
that  I  understand  the  terrible  death  of  my  dear  friend  Eberhard. 
A  father  in  such  grief — " 

The  queen  did  not  enter  into  this  view  of  the  matter  and  went 
on,  as  if  speaking  to  herself: 

••  When  I  recall  the  days,  the  hours,  in  which  she  sung,  I  must 
ask  myself,  can  it  be  possible  to  sing  such  songs  and  such  words, 
— breathing  naught  but  love,  kindness,  exaltation,  purity — and  at 
the  same  time  have  nothing  in  one's  soul  ?  Aye,  worse  than  noth- 
ing— falseness  and  hypocrisy  ?  Every  word  seems  false.  Have  we 
a  right  to  be  princes,  to  regard  ourselves  as  superior  to  others  and 
entitled  to  rule  them,  if  we  do  not  elevate  ourselves  above  them  by 
purity  and  greatness  of  soul  ?  I  have  become  a  changed  being 
since  yesterday.  My  soul  then  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and 
the  waves  of  death  and  despair  raged  above  me ;  but  now  I  wish 
to  live.  Only  tell  me  how  to  endure  it  all.  You  've  been  at  court 
so  long  and  despise  even-thing.  Do  n't  shake  your  head  ;  you  de- 
spise it  all — !  Tell  me,  how  is  one  to  endure  it  ?  How  can  one 
manage  to  live  on  and  yet  remain  here  ?  You  surely  possess  the 
mystery  ;  impart  it  to  me,  for  that  alone  can  save  me.  " 

"Your  Majesty,"  replied  the  physician,  "you  are  still  feverish 
and  excited." 

"  Indeed,  is  that  the  sum  of  all  your  science  ?  Princes  are  right 
when  they  abuse  their  fellow-creatures,  for  even  the  best  of  men 
are  naught  but  polite  shadows.  I  had  placed  all  my  dependence 
upon  you  ;  I  had  looked  up  to  you  as  one  exalted  far  above  me ; 
and  where  I  had  hoped  to  clasp  a  hand,  you  offer  me  an  empty 
glove.  You  smile ;  I  am  not  delirious,  I  've  merely  awakened  to 
the  truth  ;  I  have  just  passed  through  hours  in  which  the  beautiful 
world — Ah  !  how  full  of  beauty  it  was — seemed  filled  with  naught 
but  creeping  worms  and  loathsome  corruption.  Oh,  it  is  terrible  ! 
I  fancied  there  was  one  free  being  to  whom  I  could  tell  all,  and 
from  whom  I  could  ask  everything  in  return  ;  but  you  are  not  the 
man.  Ah  !  there  are  no  real  men  in  this  world.  The  best  are 
nothing  more  than  title-bearing  creatures  !  " 

"You  shall  not  have  goaded  me  in  vain!"  muttered  Gunther 
half  aloud,  and  rising  from  his  seat. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS  449 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  offend  you  !  "  cried  the  queen.  "Ah,  thus  it 
is  ;  in  pain  and  sorrow,  we  wound  those  who  are  nearest  to  us  !  " 

"Calm  yourself,  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Gunther,  seating  him- 
self. "  If  there  is  anything  for  which  I  may  claim  credit,  it  is  that 
I  do  not  indulge  my  sensitiveness.  I  am  severe  towards  others,  be- 
cause I -am  severe  towards  myself." 

The  queen  closed  her  eyes,  but  presently  she  looked  at  him  in* 
tently  and  said  : 

"  I  fear  nothing  more." 

Thus  encouraged,  Gunther  went  on  to  say : 

"Human  fancy  cannot  realize  how  much  of  vice  and  misery,  nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  how  much  of  beauty,  holiness,  grandeur  and 
sublimity  there  is  in  life." 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  am  here  at  the  palace,  which  is  a  world  in 
miniature,  a  world  in  itself.  All  that  is  terrible,  and  all  that  is 
noble,  is  attracted  hither — and  yet,  with  every  returning  spring,  the 
flowers  bloom  and  the  trees  deck  themselves  in  robes  of  green, 
while  the  stars  shine  over  all.  There  is  a  blooming  flower,  a  shin- 
ing star  even  in  the  most  despicable  of  beings.  A  drop  descends 
from  the  .clouds  and  falls  upon  the  dusty  road.  The  drop  and  the 
dust  uniting,  become  the  mire  of  the  highway ;  but  to  the  eye  that 
looks  deeper,  the  drop  is  still  pure,  although  divided  and  subdivided 
until  it  is  almost  impalpably  minute,  and  inseparable  from  the  dust 
that  darkens  it.  But  even  this  image  does  not  suffice.  No  image 
directed  to  the  senses,  can  convey  an  adequate  conception  of  the 
Deity.  God  exists  even  in  the  grain  of  dust.  To  our  eyes,  it  is 
dust ;  but  to  the  eye  of  God,  it  is  as  pure  as  the  water  and  is 
equally  the  abode  of  infinity.  The  very  people  whom  you  regard 
as  so  false  would  like  to  be  good,  if  it  did  not  entail  so  much  trouble 
and  involve  so  many  sacrifices.  Most  men  would  like  to  win 
virtue,  but  do  not  care  to  earn  it.  They  all  desire  to  draw  the  great 
prize  in  the  lottery  of  morality.  '  Oh,  if  I  were  only  good  ! '  said  a 
lost  creature  to  me,  one  day.  Your  Majesty,  truth  tells  us  that 
hatred  and  contempt  are  not  good,  for  they  injure  the  soul.  The 
true  art  of  living  requires  us  to  recognize  that  which  is  base  in  its 
true  colors,  but,  at  the  same  time,  to  avoid  debasing  ourselves  by 
violent  or  passionate  feelings  against  that  which  is  wicked  or  vulgar. 
You  must  remove  hatred  from  your  heart,  and  be  at  peace  with 
yourself.  Hatred  destroys  the  soul.  You  must  grow  to  feel  that, 
viewed  in  the  proper  light,  vice  and  crime  are  simply  defects. 
They  may  lead  to  a  thousand  sad  consequences,  but,  of  themselves, 
hjve  no  existence ;  virtue  alone  is  a  reality.  Come  up  higher, 
unto  where  I  stand,  and  you  will  find  that  you  have  been  torment- 
ing yourself  with  mere  shadows." 

"  I  see  the  steps,"  said  the  queen  ;  "help  me  up  !  " 

"  Naught  can  avail  but  self-help.  Each  must  learn  to  be  mon- 
arch of  himself,  even  though  he  wear  a  kingly  crown.  The  law 


450  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

teaches  us  that,  in  order  to  retain  this  command  over  ourselves,  we 
must  not  permit  anger  and  hatred  to  dwell  in  our  souls,  or  to  poison 
so  much  of  the  world  as  is  given  us  to  enjoy,  be  our  share  great  or 
small." 

"  I  had  too  much  faith  in  virtue  and  kindness." 

"  Very  likely.  As  long  as  one  believes  in  mankind,  there  will  be 
deception  and  despair.  We  persist  in  judging  our  fellow-creatures 
by  what  they  are  as  regards  us,  instead  of  what  they  are  as  regards 
themselves.  And  thus,  as  long  as  we  believe  in  human  virtue,  we 
may,  at  times,  be  perplexed  at  finding  ourselves  disappointed 
where  we  least  expect  it.  As  soon,  however,  as  we  recognize  the 
Divine  in  everything,  even  though  the  possessor  himself  is  uncon- 
scious of  it,  we  have  attained  a  lofty  standpoint,  from  which  we  feel 
sure  both  of  ourselves  and  of  the  world." 

The  queen  hurriedly  raised  herself  and,  extending  both  hands  to 
Gunther,  exclaimed : 

"  You  are  a  worker  of  miracles." 

"  No,  I  am  not  that.  I  am  only  a  physician  who  has  held  many 
a  hand  hot  with  fever,  or  stiff  in  death,  in  his  own.  The  healing 
art  might  serve  as  an  illustration.  We  help  all  who  need  our  help, 
and  do  not  stop  to  ask  who  they  are,  whence  they  come,  or 
whether,  when  restored  to  health,  they  persist  in  their  evil  courses. 
Our  actions  are  incomplete,  fragmentary ;  thought  alone  is  com- 
plete and  all-embracing.  Our  deeds  and  our  selves  are  but  frag- 
ments— the  whole  is  God." 

"  I  think  I  grasp  your  meaning.  But  our  life,  as  you  say,  is 
indeed  a  mere  fraction  of  life  as  a  whole,  and  how  is  each  one  to 
bear  up  under  the  portion  of  suffering  that  falls  to  his  individual 
lot?  Can  one — I  mean  it  in  its  best  sense — always  be  outside  of 
one's  self?  " 

"I  am  well  aware,  Your  Majesty,  that  passions  and  emotions 
cannot  be  regulated  by  ideas  ;  for  they  grow  in  a  different  soil,  or, 
to  express  myself  correctly,  move  in  entirely  different  spheres.  It 
is  but  a  few  days  since  I  closed  the  eyes  of  my  old  friend  Eberhard. 
Even  he  never  fully  succeeded  in  subordinating  his  temperament  to 
his  philosophy ;  but,  in  his  dying  hour,  he  rose  beyond  the  terrible 
grief  that  broke  his  heart — grief  for  his  child.  He  summoned 
the  thoughts  of  better  hours  to  his  aid — hours  when  his  perception 
of  the  truth  had  been  undimmed  by  sorrow  or  passion — and  he 
died  a  noble,  peaceful  death.  Your  Majesty  must  still  live  and 
labor,  elevating  yourself  and  others,  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
Permit  me  to  remind  you  of  the  moment  when,  seated  under  the 
weeping  ash,  your  heart  was  filleTJ  with  pity  for  the  poor  child  that, 
from  thr.  time  it  enters  into  the  world,  is  doubly  helpless.  Do 
you  still  remember  how  you  refused  to  rob  it  of  its  mother?  I 
appeal  to  the  pure  and  genuine  impulse  of  that  moment.  You 
were  noble  and  forgiving  then,  because  you  had  not  yet  suffered. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  451 

You  cast  no  stone  at  the  fallen  ;  you  loved  and,  therefore,  you  for- 
gave." 

"O  God  !  '  cried  the  queen,  "and  what  has  happened  to  me? 
The  woman  on  whose  bosom  my  child  rested  is  the  most  aban- 
doned of  creatures.  I  loved  her,  just  as  if  she  belonged  to  another 
world— a  world  of  innocence.  And  now  I  am  satisfied  that  she 
was  the  go-between  and  that  her  natvett  was  a  mere  mask  con- 
cealing an  unparalleled  hypocrite.  I  imagined  that  truth  and  purity 
still  dwelt  in  the  simple  rustic  world — but  everything  is  perverted 
and  corrupt.  The  world  of  simplicity  is  base  ;  aye,  far  worse  than 
that  of  corruption  !  " 

"  I  am  not  arguing  about  individuals.  I  think  you  mistaken 
in  regard  to  Walpurga  ;  but,  admitting  that  you  are  right,  of  this, 
at  least,  we  can  be  sure :  morality  does  not  depend  upon  so-called 
education  or  ignorance,  belief  or  unbelief.  The  heart  and  mind 
which  have  regained  purity  and  steadfastness  alone  possess  true 
knowledge.  Extend  your  view  beyond  details  and  take  in  the 
whole — that  alone  can  comfort  and  reconcile  you." 

"I  see  where  you  are,  but  I  cannot  get  up  there.  I  can't  always 
be  looking  through  your  telescope  that  shows  naught  but  blue  sky. 
I  am  too  weak.  I  know  what  you  mean  ;  you  say,  in  effect :  '  Rise 
above  these  few  people,  above  this  span  of  space  known  as  a  king- 
dom— compared  with  the  universe,  they  are  but  as  so  many  blades 
of  grass,  or  a  mere  clod  of  earth.'  " 

Gunther  nodded  a  pleased  assent,  but  the  queen,  in  a  sad  voice, 
added  : 

"  Yes,  but  this  space  and  these  people  constitute  my  world.  Is 
purity  merely  imaginary  ?  If  it  be  not  about  us,  where  can  it  be 
found  ?  " 

"  Within  ourselves,"  replied  Gunther.  "  If  it  dwell  within  us,  it  is 
everywhere  ;  if  not,  it  is  nowhere.  He  who  asks  for  more,  has  not 

¥>t  passed  the  threshold.  His  heart  is  not  yet  what  it  should  be. 
rue  love  for  the  things  of  this  earth,  and  for  God,  the  final  cause 
of  all,  does  not  ask  for  love  in  return.  We  love  the  divine  spark 
that  dwells  in  creatures  themselves  unconscious  of  it :  creatures 
who  are  wretched,  debased  and,  as  the  church  has  it,  unredeemed. 
My  master  taught  me  that  the  purest  joys  arise  from  this  love  of 
God  or  of  eternally  pure  nature.  I  made  this  truth  my  own,  and 
you  can  and  ought  to  do  likewise.  This  park  is  yours ;  but  the 
birds  that  dwell  in  it,  the  air,  the  light,  its  beauty,  are  not  yours 
alone,  but  are  shared  with  you  by  all.  So  long  as  the  world  is 
ours,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  word,  we  may  love  it ;  but  when 
we  h  ive  made  it  our  own,  in  a  purer  and  better  sense,  no  one  can 
take  it  from  us.  The  great  thing  is  to  be  strong  and  to  know  that 
hatred  is  death,  that  love  alone  is  life,  and  that  the  amount  of  love 
that  we  possoss  is  the  measure  of  the  life  and  the  divinity  that 
dwells  within  us." 


452  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Gunther  rose  and  was  about  to  withdraw.  He  feared  lest  ex- 
cessive thought  might  over-agitate  the  queen  who,  however,  mo- 
tioned him  to  remain.  He  sat  down  again. 

"You  cannot  imagine — "  said  the  queen,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  but  that  is  one  of  the  cant  phrases  that  we  have  learned  by  heart. 
I  mean  just  the  reverse  of  what  I  have  said.  You  can  imagine  the 
change  that  your  words  have  effected  in  me." 

"  I  can  conceive  it." 

"  Let  me  ask  a  few  more  questions.  I  believe — nay,  I  am  sure — 
that  on  the  height  you  occupy,  and  towards  which  you  would  fain 
lead  me,  there  dwells  eternal  peace.  But  it  seems  so  cold  and 
lonely  up  there.  I  am  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  fear,  just  as  if  I 
were  in  a  balloon  ascending  into  a  rarer  atmosphere,  while  more 
and  more  ballast  was  ever  being  thrown  out.  I  do  n't  know  how 
to  make  my  meaning  clear  to  you.  I  do  n't  understand  how  to 
keep  up  affectionate  relations  with  those  about  me,  and  yet  regard 
them  from  a  distance,  as  it  were — looking  upon  their  deeds  as  the 
mere  action  and  reaction  of  natural  forces.  It  seems  to  me  as 
if,  at  that  height,  every  sound  and  every  image  must  vanish  into 
thin  air." 

"  Certainly,  Your  Majesty.  There  is  a  realm  of  thought  in  which 
hearing  and  sight  do  not  exist,  where  there  is  pure  thought  and 
nothing  more." 

"  But  are  not  the  thoughts  that  there  abound  projected  from  the 
realm  of  death  into  that  of  life,  and  is  that  any  better  than  monastic 
self-mortification  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  the  contrary.  They  praise  death  or,  at  all  events,  ex- 
tol it,  because,  after  it,  life  is  to  begin.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who 
deny  a  future  life.  I  only  say,  in  the  words  of  my  master :  '  Our 
knowledge  is  of  life  and  not  of  death,'  and  where  my  knowledge 
ceases,  my  thoughts  must  cease.  Our  labors,  our  love,  are  all  of 
this  life.  And  because  God  is  in  this  world  and  in  all  that  exist  in 
it,  and  only  in  those  things,  have  we  to  liberate  the  divine  essence, 
wherever  it  exists.  The  law  of  love  should  rule.  What  the  law 
of  nature  is  in  regard  to  matter,  the  moral  law  is  to  man." 

"  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to  your  dividing  the  divine  power 
into  millions  of  parts.  When  a  stone  is  crushed,  every  fragment 
still  remains  a  stone ;  but  when  a  flower  is  torn  to  pieces,  the  parts 
are  no  longer  flowers." 

"  Let  us  take  your  simile  as  an  illustration,  although  in  truth  no 
example  is  adequate.  The  world,  the  firmament,  the  creatures 
that  live  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  are  not  divided — they  are  one ; 
thought  regards  them  as  a  whole.  Take,  for  instance,  the  flower. 
The  idea  of  divinity  which  it  suggests  to  us,  and  the  fragrance 
which  ascends  from  it,  are  yet  part  and  parcel  of  the  flower :  attri- 
butes without  which  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceive  of  its  exist- 
ence. The  works  of  all  poets,  all  thinkers,  all  heroes,  may  be 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  453 

likened  to  streams  of  fragrance,  wafted  through  time  and  space, 
it  is  in  the  flower  that  they  live  forever.  Although  the  eternal 
spirit  dwells  in  the  cell  of  every  tree  or  flower,  and  in  every  human 
heart,  it  is  undivided  and,  in  its  unity,  fills  the  world.  He  whose 
thoughts  dwell  in  the  infinite,  regards  the  world  as  the  mighty 
corolla  from  which  the  thought  of  God  exhales." 

For  some  time,  the  queen  kept  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
Gunther  quietly  withdrew. 

CHAPTER     XVI. 

'"PHE  king  returned  from  the  hunt.  His  courageous  wanderings 
1  among  the  Highlands  had  reinvigorated  him.  He,  too,  was 
in  a  changed  frame  of  mind. 

He  had  already  received  a  full  account  of  what  had  happened  at 
the  lake.  "  That 's  over,"  thought  he  ;  "I  can't  always  be  drag- 
ging the  past  about  with  me." 

He  was  informed  that  the  queen  had  not  left  her  apartments 
since  the  receipt  of  the  dreadful  news.  He  sent  for  Gunther,  who 
informed  him  of  the  queen's  condition,  and  recommended  that  she 
be  treated  with  great  indulgence. 

The  king  fancied  that  the  Doctor's  manner  was  more  reserved 
than  usual.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  him  as  to  the  queen's 
thoughts,  how  she  had  received  the  sad  news,  and  whether  she 
had  conquered  her  grief;  but  it  was  Gunther's  duty  to  tell  him  all 
this,  without  waiting  to  be  questioned.  At  last,  the  king  asked 
him : 

"  Is  the  queen's  mind  composed  ?  " 

"  It  is  noble  and  beautiful  as  ever,"  replied  Gunther. 

"  Has  she  been  reading  of  late  ?  Did  she  send  for  the  court 
chaplain  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  Your  Majesty." 

The  king  who,  at  other  times,  found  the  observance  of  etiquette 
so  convenient,  now  found  it  irksome. 

He  would  have  liked  the  Doctor  to  speak  of  his  own  accord, 
and  explain  much  that  was  yet  unclear,  instead  of  simply  answer- 
ing the  questions  put  to  him. 

"You  have  had  a  great  trial;  in  Count  Eberhard,  you  lost  an 
old  friend." 

"  He  lives  in  my  memory,  just  as  he  did  before  he  died,"  replied 
Gunther. 

The  king's  heart  was  filled  with  anger.  He  had  been  very 
friendly  in  his  advances  towards  this  man,  had  even  enquired  after 
an  event  in  his  private  life,  and  yet  Gunther,  while  preserving  per- 
fect decorur  i,  remained  as  reserved  and  as  repelling  as  ever. 

His  old  aversion  towards  this  man,  who,  in  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
citement at  court,  always  remained  unmoved,  was  again  aroused. 


454  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  dismissed  Gunther,  with  a  gracious  wave  of  his  hand  ;  but 
when  he  had  gone,  his  eye  followed  him  with  a  sinister  expression. 

A  thought  occurred  to  him  which  made  his  cheeks  glow,  and 
determined  him  upon  another  line  of  action.  It  was  now  clear  to 
him  that  the  real  cause  of  his  misstep  lay  in  the  fact  that  a  third 
person  had  stood  between  him  and  his  wife.  This  should  no 
longer  be  the  case,  no  matter  how  well  it  was  meant.  Instead  of 
asking  Gunther  for  information  as  to  his  wife's  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, she  should  tell  him  all,  in  person  and  alone.  He  felt  a  de°p 
affection  for  her,  and  thought  that,  since  he  had  conquered  so  much 
within  himself,  he  was  again  worthy  of  her. 

The  king  sent  for  Countess  Brinkenstein.  Since  the  sad  occur- 
rence, the  king  had  only  moved  among  men,  by  whom  affairs  of  this 
nature  are  treated  more  lightly  and,  in  fact,  are  scarcely  alluded  to. 
And  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  stood  face  to  face  with  a  woman  ; 
one  indeed  in  whom  a  noble  mind  was  combined  with  the  most  or- 
thodox observance  of  court  etiquette.  The  king's  demeanor  was 
dignified,  although  his  heart  trembled  with  emotion. 

"We  have  had  sad  experiences,"  said  he  to  her. 

With  great  tact,  Countess  Brinkenstein  managed  to  turn  the 
conversation  into  another  channel  and  thus  avert  any  explanation 
on  the  king's  part.  She  thought  it  unbecoming  a  king  to  justify 
himself  or  to  show  himself  weak  or  perplexed  ;  and,  besides  that, 
she  regarded  it  as  the  duty  of  those  about  him,  to  smooth  over  all 
that  was  unpleasant  as  gracefully  as  possible. 

The  king  appreciated  her  considerateness.  He  asked  her 
whether  she  had  often  seen  the  queen  during  the  last  few  days,  and 
who  was  now  waiting  on  her.  The  Countess  informed  him 
that  she  had  only  once  been  with  the  queen,  who  had  expressed  a 
wish  in  regard  to  his  royal  highness  the  crown  prince. 

"Ah,  how  is  the  prince?"  asked  the  king.  During  all  these 
days,  he  had  scarcely  thought  of  his  child,  and  now,  as  if  with  re- 
newed consciousness  of  the  fact,  he  remembered  that  Le  had  a 
son. 

"  Remarkably  well,"  replied  the  Countess,  who  went  on  to  name 
the  various  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  who  were  now  in 
attendance  upon  her  majesty  the  queen.  No  one  had  seen  her 
during  the  last  few  days,  except  Madame  Leoni,  who  had  been 
with  her  constantly,  and  the  Doctor,  who  had  conversed  with  her 
for  hours. 

The  king  gave  orders  to  have  the  prince  brought  into  his  apart- 
ments. He  kissed  the  boy,  whose  round  and  delicate  little  hand 
played  with  his  father's  face. 

"  Thou  shalt  honor  thy  father — if  I  could  only  wipe  away  that 
one  reproach,"  said  he  to  himself. 

He  felt  as  if  his  child's  touch  had  endowed  him  with  new 
strength,  and  was  about  to  proceed  to  the  queen's  apartments 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  455 

when  Schnabelsdorf  was  announced.     The  king"  was  obliged  to 
remain  and  receive  him. 

The  prime  minister  informed  him  that  the  result  of  all  the  elec- 
tions was  now  known,  and  that  his  position  would  be  a  difficult 
one,  for  the  majority  had  been  on  the  side  of  the  opposition. 

The  king  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said : 

"We  must  await  events." 

Schnabelsdorf  looked  astounded  at  this  indifference.  What 
could  have  happened  ? 

"There  is  only  one  new  election  necessary,"  said  he.  "Your 
Majesty  is  aware  that  Count  Eberhard  Wildenort  was  elected  as  a 
deputy?" 

"  I  know,  "  said  the  king.     "  Why  mention  this  ?  " 

Schnabelsdorf  dropped  his  eyes  and  added  :  "I  am  informed 
that  Colonel  von  Bronnen,  Your  Majesty's  adjutant  general,  whose 
name  has  already  been  mentioned  in  that  connection,  is  to  be 
brought  forward  as  a  candidate." 

"Bronnen  will  refuse  to  stand,"  said  the  king. 

Schnabelsdorf  received  this  remark  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
bow.  He  had  a  presentiment  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  king  permitted  his  minister  to  inform  him  of  what  was  most 
urgent,  but  begged  him  to  be  brief. 

Schnabelsdorf  was  very  brief. 

The  king  dismissed  him.  His  intention  was  to  have  Schnabels 
dorf  open  the  new  chamber.  If,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the  ma- 
jority were  against  him,  Bronnen  would  form  a  new  cabinet. 

It  was  no  slight  struggle  on  the  part  of  the  king,  to  suffer  that 
which  ought  to  have  emanated  from  his  own  will,  to  appear  as 
a  yielding,  on  his  part,  to  the  popular  voice  ;  but  he  felt  that  it  was 
the  first  real  proof  of  his  subjection  to  the  law,  and  he  meant  to 
find  his  highest  glory  in  giving  expression  to  the  voice  of  the 
people. 

His  new  motto:  "True  and  free,"  again  impressed  itself  upon 
him.  Calm  and  self-possessed,  he  repaired  to  the  queen's  apart- 
ments. 

CHAPTER     XVII. 

THE  queen  had  been  informed  of  the  king's  return,  and  the 
calms  »ss  and  self-command  that  she  had  regained  seemed  to 
vanish.  As  long  as  he  remained  at  a  distance,  she  felt  herself 
secure  in  the  lofty  realm  of  thought;  but  now  that  he  was  near 
her,  the  thought  of  meeting  him  face  to  face  made  her  tremble 
with  fear.  Her  sense  of  injury  loosened  the  weak  foundations  of 
the  principles  it  had  cost  her  such  an  effort  to  make  her  own. 

It  was  already  night  when  the  queen  heard  hei  husband's  voice 
in  :he  ante-chamber.  He  wished  to  see  her,  he  said,  even  if  she 


456  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

were  asleep.  He  entered  softly.  She  kept  her  eyes  closed  ana 
forced  herself  to  breathe  as  gently  as  possible.  It  was  the  first 
deceit  of  her  life.  She  was  only  feigning  sleep,  and  how  often  had 
he  who  now  stood  before  her  feigned  sincerity  and  truth —  ?  Her 
breathing  became  heavier ;  it  required  all  her  self-command  to 
remain  quiet.  Horror  at  the  idea  of  feigning  death  now  possessed 
her. 

She  lay  there  motionless,  with  her  hands  folded,  and  her  husband 
stood  before  her.  She  imagined  that  she  felt  his  loving,  affection- 
ate glance — but  what  could  his  love  or  affection  be  ?  She  felt  his 
warm  breath  against  her  face.  And  now  he  felt  her  pulse,  and 
yet  she  did  not  stir.  She  felt  the  kiss  that  he  imprinted  upon  her 
hand,  and  yet  she  did  not  move.  She  heard  him  turn  to  Madame 
Leoni  and  say  :  "  She  sleeps  quietly,  thank  God  !  Do  n't  tell  her 
that  I  was  here."  She  heard  his  words,  and  his  soft  footsteps 
while  he  left  the  room,  and  yet  she  did  not  move.  Lest  her  at- 
tendant should  discover  the  deception,  she  was  obliged  to  keep 
up  the  appearance  of  being  asleep  and  to  affect  entire  ignorance 
of  what  had  passed. 

When  the  king  reached  the  ante-room,  he  said  to  the  waiting- 
woman  : 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  Leoni !  " 

"Your  Majesty,"  replied  Madame  Leoni,  with  a  profound  bow. 

"  You  have  of  late  afforded  fresh  proofs  of  your  attachment  to 
the  queen.  I  shall  not  forget  it.  It  is  a  comfort  to  me  to  know- 
that  she  is  surrounded  by  such  careful  attendants.  My  dear 
Leoni,  do  all  you  can  to  secure  the  queen  as  much  repose  as  possi- 
ble ;  and  if  she  should  wish  for  anything  particular,  which  you 
think  that  the  ladies  of  the  court  or  Countess  Brinkenstein  need 
know  nothing  of,  address  yourself  to  me.  Has  the  queen  spoken 
much  during  the  last  few  days  ?  " 

"O  yes!  unfortunately,  too  much;  that's  what  makes  her  so 
exhausted.  She  talked  for  hours,  incessantly." 

"  Was  it  with  you  that  she  talked  so  much  ?  " 

"O  no!" 

" Then  it  was  with  the  Doctor? " 

"  It  was.  But  pardon  me,  Your  Majesty,  it  seems  to  me  that 
his  medicines  consist  of  words." 

T'ie  king  remembered  that  Madame  Leoni  owed  a  grudge  to  the 
queen,  and  a  still  greater  one  to  Gunther,  because  the  position  of 
ayah  to  the  crown  prince  had  been  given  to  Madame  von  Gerloff, 
instead  of  her.  He  was  not  disposed  to  take  advantage  of  this, 
and  only  said  : 

"The  physician,  dear  Leoni,  should  always  be  the  confidant." 

'  Certainly,  Your  Majesty ;  but  our  noble  queen  is  so  despond- 
ent, and  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be  far  better  to  cheer  her  up  and 
make  her  laugh,  instead  of  conversing  about  such  difficult  and 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  457 

terrible  subjects.  Your  Majesty  will  surely  not  misunderstand  me 
but  I  should  like  to  help  our  noble  queen,  and  her  best,  indeed  her 
only  helper,  is  Your  Majesty.  Whoever  thrusts  himself  between 
you  and  her  does  more  harm  than  good." 

The  king  felt  concerned.  He  had  never  indulged  in  espionage, 
and  now  that  he  felt  himself  purified  and  elevated,  was  doubly 
averse  to  it.  Nevertheless,  he  asked  : 

"  Pray,  tell  me  what  has  happened  ! " 

"  Ah  !  Your  Majesty ;  I  'd  rather  die  than  wrong  my  royal  mis- 
tress, but  what  I  am  doing  can't  harm  her ;  it  is  only  meant  to  aid 
her," 

"Confide  all  to  me,"  said  the  kir  g,  in  a  soft  voice, — himself 
displeased  at  what  he  was  saying, — "you  could  not  so  demean 
yourself  as  to  be  a  spy  on  the  words  and  actions  of  others,  nor 
could  I  desire  or  permit  you  to  do  so  ;  but  it  is  necessary  for  me  to 
know  how  the  queen  can  be  helped  out  of  her  present  trouble,  and, 
therefore,  I  ought  to  be  informed  of  what  is  told  her,  and  how 
matters  are  discussed  here." 

"  Certainly,  Your  Majesty,"  replied  Madame  Leoni,  and,  having 
apologized  for  the  ugly  words,  she  informed  him  how  the  physician 
had  spoken  of  the  origin  of  the  mud  in  the  highways,  how  a  pure 
drop  from  the  heavenly  clouds  mingles  with  the  dust  of  the  road  ; 
and  that  they  had  gone  on  to  talk  of  sculpture,  of  haut  relief  and 
has  relief. 

Madame  Leoni  could  only  furnish  a  disconnected  statement,  but 
the  king  already  knew  enough. 

CHAPTER     XVIII. 

ON  the  following  morning,  the  king  sent  word  to  the  queen  that 
he  must  see  her. 

He  hastened  to  her. 

They  were  both  alone  in  the  apartment. 

The  king  was  about  to  embrace  his  wife. 

She  begged  him  to  be  seated. 

"As  you  please,"  said  he,  in  a  gentle  voice.  He  was  resolved 
to  win  her  back  to  him,  in  candor  and  love. 

"  Will  you  speak  first,  or  shall  I  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

His  voice  was  clear  and  distinct,  and  startled  her.  She  observed 
his  fresh  appearance,  and  grew  still  paler.  She  pressed  her  hand  to 
her  heart ;  she  could  not  speak. 

"Well,  then  let  me  speak.  Mathilde,  we  won  each  other  in 
sincere  love.  I  frankly  confess  that  I  have  sinned  deeply  against 
you  and  others,  and  now  I  beg  you  to  believe  in  my  sincere  repent- 
ance. Do  n't  judge  me  meanly,  or  in  a  narrow  sense  !  " 

"  Not  meanly  ?  O  yes,  I  understand  !  To  great  minds  like 
fourself,  morality  is  narrow-mindedness.  Yours  are  the  large,  the 
20 


458  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

world-embracing  hearts,  and  I  am  a  bigoted,  self-opinionated  creat- 
ure ! " 

"  Mathilde,  do  n't  say  that ;  I  did  n't  mean  to  wound  you." 

"  O  no  !  you  did  n't  mean  to  wound  me  ;  certainly  not,  never  !  " 

"  Mathilde,  with  that  tone  we  shall  never  arrive  at  perfect  har- 
mony. Ask  anything  of  me,  as  a  proof  of  my  repentance  and 
conversion.  You  have  the  right  to  do  so  ;  I  swear  to  you — 

"  Do  n't  swear.  I  pity  you, — there  's  nothing  left  by  which  you 
can  swear.  Swear  by  the  head  of  your  child — the  child  at  whose 
cradle  you  exchanged  adulterous  words  and  glances  with  her !  " 

"  Let  the  future  efface  all  recollection  of  the  past !  " 

"Very  well.  Issue  a  royal  mandate:  The  world  and,  above 
all,  my  wife,  are  to  forget  that  there  ever  was  a  Countess  Irma ; 
such  is  my  royal  will." 

The  king  gazed  at  his  wife  in  astonishment.  Was  this  the  same 
tender,  sensitive  being?  What  great  change  had  come  over  her? 

"  Let  the  dead  rest !  "  said  he,  at  last. 

"  But  the  dead  do  not  let  us  rest.  She  looks  at  me  through  your 
eyes,  speaks  to  me  with  your  lips,  touches  me  with  your  hand  ;  foi 
your  hand,  your  lips,  your  eyes,  were  hers." 

"  I  will  withdraw  until  you  regain  your  composure." 

"  No,  stay  !  I  am  quite  composed.  Perhaps  you  would  rather 
not  hear  what  I  have  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  will  listen  to  it  all,"  said  the  king,  seating  himself;  "  proceed." 
.  "  Well,  then  let  me  tell  you  that  you  have  desecrated  a  sanctuary, 
lovelier  and  more  beautiful  than  any  that  ever  existed  on  earth — 
the  sanctuary  in  which  you  were  worshiped.  I  may  tell  you  this, 
for  the  temple  is  no  more  and  you  are  no  longer  in  it.  I  desired  to 
be  one  with  you  in  everything;  in  every  breath,  in  every  word,  in 
every  glance,  even  though  it  was  directed  to  Him  who  is  on  high. 
It  was  for  that,  that  I  offered  to  sacrifice  my  faith — " 

"Do  you  wish  to  balance  accounts  between  us?  Then  remem- 
ber that  I  didn't  ask  you  to  make  that  sacrifice;  it  would  have 
been  a  burden.  The  idea  of  its  being  a  sacrifice  is  out  of  the 
question." 

"  Very  well ;  1  '11  say  no  more  about  that.  I  merely  wished  to 
tell  you  that  what  I  regarded  as  a  sacrifice,  you  looked  upon  as 
weakness.  Enough  of  that,  however.  You  were  false  to  your 
marriage  vow,  and  that,  too,  with  her  whom  I  regarded  as  my 
friend  !  I  know  the  way  of  the  world,  in  such  matters.  The 
Steigeneck  whom  your  father — " 

"  Do  n't  insult  my  father's  memory !  Say  what  you  choose 
cf  me,  but  do  n't  insult  my  father  !  " 

"  I  do  n't  insult  him  ;  I  honor  him.  Compared  with  you,  he  was 
pure  and  virtuous.  He  was  free  frj>m  all  affectation  of  morality, 
from  b  ing,  deceit  and  treachery  !  " 

"  Wiio  is  it  that  speaks?  "  said  the  king,  interrupting  her.  "  Is 
this  my  wife  ?  Is  it  a  queen  who  utters  these  words  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  459 

•'  They  ought  not  to  be  my  words ;  you  have  forced  them  upon 
me.  But  let  us  not  dispute  about  words.  Your  father  bestowed 
his  affections  on  a  stranger  who  lived  at  a  distance,  and  who  did 
not  know  his  wife.  Compared  with  your  conduct,  his  was  virtue 
itself.  You  were  false  to  me,  and  that,  too,  with  a  friend  who  was 
constantly  at  my  side  ;  we  conversed  together  of  love,  of  the  stars, 
of  the  trees,  the  mountains  and  the  valleys,  and  our  thoughts 
seemed  as  one.  Side  by  side,  we  beheld  the  works  of  art,  we 
sang,  we  played  together — and  yet  you  could  both  act  thus,  while 
at  my  side,  and  enter  the  inner  sanctuary  of  that  which  is  highest 
in  life.  The  sky,  the  earth,  all  that  was  pure  and  noble  in  thought 
or  word — you  have  destroyed  them  all.  I  would  like  to  know  the 
day  when,  by  word  or  glance,  you  both  ventured  to  begin  your 
false  game  !  With  every  kiss  you  gave  her,  you  must  have  said : 
'Ah,  my  wife — how  unhappy  I  am — she  's  so  narrow-minded,  so 
devoid  of  grandeur—  '  Don't  interrupt  me  !  Of  one  thing  I  am 
sure :  no  husband  or  wife  can  ever  touch  the  hand  of  another,  in 
love,  without  feeling :  '  I  am  miserable.'  It  is  n't  hatred  and  revenge 
that  now  speak  through  me,  it  is  justice  !  As  long  as  I  still  loved 
you,  I  could  hate  you  ;  but  now  I  simply  judge  you.  You  must 
bear  the  consequences  of  your  actions.  Justice  requires  that.  I 
pity  and  deplore  your  lot.  How  will  you  ever  delight  in  the  forest, 
when  she  whom  you  loaded  with  sin,  fled  through  the  forest  unto 
death  ?  How  can  you  look  at  the  lake  into  which  her  sin  plunged 
her  ?  The  whole  world  is  annihilated  to  you,  you  poor  creature  ! 
How  your  pen  must  tremble  when  you  again  sign  a  death  sentence 
— you  've  murdered  both  the  dead  and  the  living  !  You  may  write 
'  pardon,'  but  who  will  pardon  you,  '  king  by  the  grace  of  God  '  ?  " 

"  Mathilde,  I  once  believed  you  incapable  of  even  alluding  to 
that  which  is  unseemly." 

"  Did  you  believe  it  ?  and  what  would  you  call  unseemly  in  your 
case  ?  " 

•  "  Speak  on,  speak  on  !  "  said  the  king,  as  the  queen  now  paused 
and  heaved  a  sigh.  He  saw  the  fire  consuming  all  that  was  dear- 
est to  him  on  earth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  recognized  the  beauty 
of  the  flame.  There  are  strange  chords  in  the  human  soul,  and 
the  king,  although  filled  with  shame  and  indignation,  could  not 
but  admire  the  power  revealed  by  his  wife.  He  had  never  dreamed 
of  its  existence.  She  was  greater  and  stronger  than  he  had  ever 
imagined,  and  his  appeal  to  her  seemed  to  acknowledge  her  su- 
premacy. This  made  her  the  more  indignant  and,  with  forced 
composure,  she  continued  : 

"  No  one  has  a  right  to  demand  of  another,  of  a  prince,  or  even 
of  yourself,  that  he  should  be  a  genius  ;  but  every  one  has  a  right 
to  ask  that  you  should  be  an  upright  man,  a  true  husband  and 
father.  You  could  be  that,  just  as  easily  as  any  peasant  or  day- 
laborer  can." 


460  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Pain  and  resentment  were  depicted  in  the  king's  countenance. 

"Mathilde,"  said  he,  at  last,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  Mathilde, 
I  am  not  speaking  of  myself ;  but  consider  how  these  words  must 
injure  you." 

"  I  've  considered  all  that.  I  know  that  the  thousand  little 
pleasures  of  life  are  no  longer  mine.  I  shall  bear  a  burden  which 
death  alone  can  remove  !  I  know  that.  But  I  've  no  pity  for  my- 
self. Where  love  is  dead,  justice  must  reign  ! " 

"  Love  ?     The  love  that  could  die  was  not  love  !  " 

"Don't  let  us  dispute.  We've  ceased  to  understand  one 
another.  Listen  to  my  last,  my  irrevocable  words.  What  is  left 
me?  to  despise  you,  or  to  become  despicable  myself.  Here  I 
stand,"  said  she,  drawing  herself  up,  and  appearing  taller  than  be- 
fore, while  a  dark  flush  overspread  her  countenance,  "here  I  stand 
and  tell  you  that  I  despise  you.  I  will  live  with  you  and  by  your 
side,  as  long  as  life  remains  ;  but  I  despise  you  .  Know  that,  and 
now  leave  me.  I  shall  appear  with  you  this  evening,  at  the  court 
festival.  You  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  any  breach  of 
decorum.  Once,  love  for  you  was  all  mv  life — that  memory  is 
mine  ;  you  need  it  not !  " 

The  king  arose.  He  wanted  to  speak,  but  it  was  long  before  he 
could  utter  a  word. 

"  Does  any  one  know  of  your  sentiments  towards  me  ?  "  he 
asked,  at  last,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  No  ;  we  owe  it  to  our  son  that  no  one  should  know  of  it." 

"  Mathilde,  I  never  would  have  believed  that  you  could  speak 
thus  to  me.  But  it  does  not  come  from  you  ;  another  has  forced 
himself  between  us.  He  taught  you  to  think  and  speak  thus  !  " 

"  You  are  the  great  master  who  has  taught  me  to  substitute 
hatred  for  love,  and  contempt  for  adoration." 

"  Does  your  friend,  the  Doctor,  know  nothing  of  what  you  are 
now  inflicting  upon  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  swear  to  you — you  can  no  longer  believe  an  oath— 
but  this  I  can  say :  if  Gunther  knew  that  I  had  suffered  myself  to 
be  carried  away  by  the  ardor  of  my  past  love  for  you,  it  would 
grieve  him  deeply,  for  anger,  hatred,  and  revenge,  are  foreign  to 
his  great  nature  !  " 

"  His  great  nature  may  be  made  very  small !  " 

"You  will  not,  you  dare  not,  rob  me  of  my  only  friend  !  I  im- 
plore you !  I  '11  ask  for  nothing  more  as  long  as  I  live.  I  '11  be 
obedient  and  submissive.  I  can  no  longer  offer  you  love.  Grant 
me  but  this  one  request :  leave  me  my  only  friend  !  " 

"  Your  only  friend  ?  I  do  n't  know  that  title.  As  far  as  I  know, 
there  is  no  such  position  at  court." 

"  On  my  knees,  I  implore  you  !     Do  n't  mortify  him  !  let  me  keep 
this  one  friend.     He  's  great,  pure,  noble  ;  it  is  he  alone  who  rec 
onciles  me  to  life  !  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  461 

The  queen  was  about,  to  throw  herself  on  her  knees  before  the 
king.  He  touched  her — she  shuddered  and  drew  herself  up. 

"  Be  proud  !  "  exclaimed  the  king.  "  Be  so  !  and  bear  the  conse- 
quences !  Be  the  exalted  one,  the  pure  drop  from  the  heavenly 
cloud  mingling  with  me,  the  dust  of  the  highway — " 

The  queen  looked  up  amazed.  What  was  it  she  had  heard  ? 
The  words  of  her  noble  friend  thus  repeated  and  distorted.  Her 
head  swam. 

"Be  what  you  will!"  continued  the  king.  "Be  alone,  and 
seek  support  in  yourself.1 " 

He  pulled  at  the  betrothal  ring  on  his  finger.  It  was  difficult  to 
get  it  off",  and  his  face  grew  red  while  he  pulled  at  it  with  all  his 
strength.  At  last,  he  drew  it  over  his  knuckle.  Without  saying  a 
word,  he  laid  the  ring  on  the  table  before  the  queen. 

He  walked  to  the.  door.  He  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  if  list- 
ening for  a  word  from  her — a  word  to  which  he  would  have  re- 
plied from  the  depths  of  his  heart,  a  word  which  would  have  saved 
and  reconciled  them  both. 

The  queen  looked  after  him.  Would  he  not  turn  again  ?  would 
he  not  once  more,  with  heart-piercing  tone,  cry  :  "  Forgive  me  !  " 
The  love  that  still  dwelt  in  her,  impelled  her  towards  him.  It  was 
but  for  a  moment  that  the  king  paused.  Involuntarily,  the  queen 
stretched  her  arms  towards  him — the  moment  had  passed  and, 
with  it,  the  king  had  left. 

The  queen  walked  to  the  portiere,  and  stared  fixedly  at  it.  Then 
she  fell  back  on  the  sofa  and  wept.  She  lay  there  weeping  for  a 
long  while. 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  queen  was  now  doubly  unhappy.  She  felt  unutterable 
grief  because  of  her  lost  love,  and  had,  moreover,  suffered  her- 
self to  be  led  away  by  wicked  and  hateful  passion.  The  sense  of 
freedon .  and  of  elevation,  which  Gunther  had  awakened  in  her,  had 
vanished.  And  now  that  the  heart-rending  separation  had  taken 
place,  it  seemed  to  her  like  a  death  that  had  been  foreseen.  But, 
although  we  behold  its  approach  from  afar,  death  ever  brings  new 
and  unlocked  for  woe  in  its  train. 

The  queen  went  to  the  crown  prince's  apartments.  On  her  way, 
she  passed  by  the  king's  cabinet.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
asked  herself  how  it  would  be  if  she  were  to  enter  here,  clasp  him 
in  her  arms  and  say :  "  Let  all  be  forgotten  ;  you  are  unhapr.y  as 
well  as  I,  and  I  will  help  you  to  bear  your  lot." 

She  passed  on,  for  she  felt  afraid  lest  she  might  again  appear  to 
him  as  weak  and  wavering,  while  she  meant  to  be  strong. 

When  she  saw  her  child,  her  eyes  regained  a  bright  expression. 
The  child  had  not  seen  its  mother  weeping  and  wrestling  with  hef 


462  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

sorrow,  and  now  she  was  with  him  again.  "  He,  too,  will  come 
here,"  said  an  inner  voice  that  she  was  almost  loth  to  listen  to. 
She  trembled  when  she  learned  that  the  king  had  had  the  prince 
brought  to  his  apartments  that  very  day. 

She  waited  for  a  long  while.  She  would  kiss  the  boy's  little 
hand  again  and  again,  and  would  look  around  to  see  if  the  father 
were  not  coming. 

He  came  not. 

The  king  was  sitting  in  his  cabinet,  his  hands  pressed  against 
his  burning  brow.  He  had  passed  the  turning  point  in  his  ca- 
reer, and  he  could  no  longer  permit  himself  to  be  oppressed 
by  private,  personal  griefs.  He  had  repented,  and  that  was  suffi- 
cient. He  was  determined  to  effect  a  change  in  himself,  and  that 
was  more  than  enough.  Of  what  use  were  further  accusations  and 
penalties  ?  A  deep  feeling  of  resentment  against  his  wife  arose 
within  him.  She  was  weak  and  revengeful.  No,  not  weak ;  she 
was  endowed  with  a  power  of  which  he  had  never  had  the  faintest 
presentiment,  and  he  felt  deeply  conscious  of  the  grievous  fault  he 
had  committed  in  deceiving  such  a  wife.  He  was,  however,  una- 
ble to  free  himself  from  the  thought  that  his  punishment  was  an  af- 
front to  his  exalted  position.  And  while  his  own  life-fabric  lay  in 
ruins,  why  should  he,  with  wondrous  self-denial,  set  about  righting 
the  lives  of  others  ?  The  heart  that  is  reconciled  and  at  peace  with 
itself,  is  the  only  one  that  can  exert  a  reconciling  and  peaceful  in- 
fluence on  others.  A  spirit  of  defiance  and  discontent  moved  him 
to  abandon  the  reforms  he  had  begun,  for  she  who  was  nearest 
and  dearest  to  him,  his  own  wife,  would  not  justly  acknowledge 
them. 

He  sat  there  for  a  long  while,  dull  and  depressed.  At  length 
he  arose,  his  face  expressive  of  defiance  and  firmness.  He  had  de- 
termined to  accomplish  the  good,  whether  his  efforts  were  appre- 
ciated or  misjudged.  His  strength  for  good  had  conquered.  Un- 
aided, and  for  the  sake  of  his  own  honor,  he  had  determined  to 
carry  out  the  measures  that  he  considered  right,  and  the  happiness 
that  this  would  cause  him  must  compensate  for  the  lost  pleasures 
of  love. 

There  were  great  festivities  at  court  that  evening. 

Th  *  betrothal  of  Princess  Angelica  to  Prince  Arnold  was  offi- 
cially celebrated.'  The  queen  appeared,  leaning  on  her  husband's 
arm,  and  had  a  kind  and  gentle  greeting  for  every  one.  She  looked 
weak,  but  none  the  less  beautiful. 

No  one  was  able  to  discover  the  faintest  trace  of  the  rupture  be- 
tween the  royal  pair,  nor  did  any  one  notice  that  the  ring  was  no 
longer  on  the  king's  hand. 

The  king  and  queen  conversed  with  apparent  cordiality,  but 
she  often  looked  as  if  she  must  ask  him :  "  Has  nothing  hap* 
pened  ?  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  463 

Then  she  would  look  about  her  fearfully,  as  if  the  spectre  of  Irma 
must  suddenly  appear  in  white,  dripping  garments. 

When  the  king,  accompanied  by  the  queen,  had  made  the  round 
of  the  saloons,  he  saluted  Bronnen  most  cordially  and  remained 
with  him  for  some  time,  engaged  in  lively  conversation. 

The  queen  looked  on  in  amazement.  She  well  knew  that  Bron- 
nen had  secretly  admired  Irma,  and  had  even  sought  her  hand. 
Ho\v  had  it  happened  that  the  king  had  become  so  intimate  with 
this  man,  and  distinguished  him  above  all  the  other  members  of 
the  court?  There  was  no  opportunity  to  obtain  information  on 
this  point.  The  whole  summer  palace  was  illuminated ;  the  ter- 
race was  hung  with  variegated  lamps ;  vessels  of  burning  pitch 
were  placed  in  the  park,  sending  their  brightness  out  into  the  au- 
tumn night ;  the  band  of  Prince  Arnold's  regiment  played  merry 
airs,  the  glow  of  lights  and  the  sounds  of  music  were  wafted  far  out 
into  the  valley  and  even  into  the  mountains,  on  whose  lonely  heights 
there  were  human  dwellings. 

The  queen  met  Gunther,  but  simply  exchanged  a  few  hasty  words 
with  him.  The  king  greeted  him  politely  as  he  passed  by. 

He  won't  be  so  cruel,  thought  the  queen.  There  was  a  strange 
shyness  in  her  expression  whenever  her  eyes  rested  on  Gunther,  and, 
on  one  occasion,  the  king  observed  this  and  shook  his  head.  The 
queen  felt  that  Gunther  must  be  displeased  with  her,  for  she  had  not 
acted  according  to  the  laws  that  he  had  explained  to  her. 

On  the  following  day,  it  was  reported  throughout  the  capital  :.hat 
Doctor  Gunther  had  received  his  dismissal.  The  official  gazette 
which  contained  an  account  of  the  betrothal  festivities,  announced 
that  "  His  Majesty  the  King  has  been  graciously  pleased  to  accept 
the  resignation  of  his  body  physician,  Privy  Councilor  Gunther, 
and,  in  token  of  his  satisfaction,  has  conferred  the  cross  of  Com- 
mander of  the  ****  Order  upon  him." 

Among  the  personal  announcements  was  the  following : 

"  I  bid  farewell  to  all  my  friends  and  am  about  to  remove  to  my 
native  town  ****  in  the  Highlands. 

"  DOCTOR  WILLIAM  GUNTHER, 

"  Privy  Councilor  and  late  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  His 
Majesty  the  King." 


A    STORY 

OF 

A    SOLITARY    WORLDLING 


BOOK    VII. 


(IRMA'S  JOURNAL.) 

CAST  ashore — what  is  there  left  me,  but  to  live  on,  because  I  am 
not  dead  ? 

For  days  and  nights,  this  unsolved  question  kept  me,  as  it  were, 
hovering  between  heaven  and  earth,  just  as  it  was  in  the  terrible 
moment  when  I  glided  down  from  the  rock. 

I  have  solved  the  problem. 

I  am  working.  I  shall  remain  resolved,  no  matter  what  the 
result.  I  find  it  a  relief  to  note  down  my  thoughts  and  feelings. 

I  was  ill, — of  a  fever,  they  tell  me, — and  now  I  am  at  work. 

I  had  told  the  grandmother  of  what  I  could  do,  but  there  was  no 
chance  to  apply  it  here.  She  took  me  out  into  the  garden,  and  we 
gathered  up  the  apples  that  Uncle  Peter  shook  down  from  the  tree. 
Then  the  old,  blind  pensioner,  whose  room  is  over  mine,  came  out 
and  told  us,  with  angry  cries,  that  a  certain  portion  of  the  apples 
belonged  to  him.  He  tried  to  find  one,  so  that  he  might  taste 
it,  and  thus  ascertain  which  tree  we  were  shaking.  I  handed  him 
an  apple,  and  told  him  that  I  lived  in  the  room  under  his. 

We  were  still  in  the  garden,  when  a  man  came  who  wanted  to 
purchase  two  maple  trees  that  were  standing  by  the  cross  road,  in 
order  to  use  them  for  carving.  This  seemed  like  a  ray  of  hope.  I 
told  the  grandmother  that  I  knew  how  to  mold  in  clay,  and  that  I 
thought  I  could  easily  learn  how  to  carve  in  wood.  And  now  I  'm 
in  the  workshop,  as  a  pupil. 

This  is  my  first  free  Sunday,  and,  while  all  are  away  at  church, 
I  am  writing  this. 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  had  already  been  kneeling  on  the  sand- 
heap,  the  muskets  aimed  at  him,  and — he  was  pardoned.  I  have 
often  seen  him.  O  that  I  had  asked  him  how  he  lived  on  ! 

* 

There  is  no  mirror  in  my  room.  I  have  determined  never  to  see 
myself  again. 

And  since  I  neither  have,  nor  desire  a  mirror,  let  these  pages  be 
the  mirror  of  my  soul.  • 


468  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

0  this  repose  !  this  solitude  !     It  is  like  rising  from  the  lake,  like 
life  regained.     And  yet  how  calm,  how  restful ! 

Up  here,  and  in  thousands  of  other  places  on  this  earth,  't  was 
ever  thus,  while,  down  below,  I  was  about  to  commit  a  fearful  sin  ! 

* 

1  have  just  returned  from  the  workshop.   Formerly,  when  making 
excursions  from  the  summer  palace  into  the  surrounding  country, 
we  would  stop  at  the  industrial  villages  and  visit  the  large  work- 
shops, where  everything  was  shown  us.     I  used  to  feel  a  sense  of 
shame — ah  !  that  was  long  ago — at  the  thought  of  our  merel) 
looking  on  for  a  moment,  while  others  were  working.     And  when 
we  returned  to  our  carriages  and  drove  off,  leaving  the  men  still  at 
their  work,  what  must  they  have  thought  of  us  ? 

I  am  now  at  the  workbench  myself. 

* 

Why  does  no  religion  place  the  command  :  "  Thou  shall  work  " 
above  all  others  ? 

5P 

They  say  that  the  wound  sucked  by  living  lips  heals  quickly. 
O  thou  who  art  called  queen !  I  would  like  to  suck  up  the  blood 
that  trickles  from  thy  heart ! 

Did  I  destroy  the  letter  to  the  queen,  or  did  it  reach  her? 

I  started  with  fright,  when  the  grandmother  asked  me  why  I  had 
pained  the  queen  by  informing  her  that  I  meant  to  take  my  life. 

Why  ?  I  know  not  why.  All  I  know  is  that  I  could  not  help  it ; 
it  was  the  last,  the  unavoidable  tribute  I  owed  to  truthfulness. 

Why  is  it  that  we  only  concern  ourselves  about  what  others  may 
think  of  us  after  death,  when  life  has  become  but  an  empty  sound  ? 

* 

Sad  and  painful  days. 

I  regarded  it  as  my  duty  to  write  to  the  queen  from  my  place  of 
concealment.  Uncle  Peter,  a  true-hearted  and  obliging  little  man, 
who  is  always  at  my  service  and  would  like  to  show  me  a  kindness 
every  moment,  offered  to  carry  a  letter  for  me  to  a  distant  town. 
The  queen  shall  not  grieve  on  my  account — not  for  my  death,  at 
all  events.  I  will  let  her  know  that  I  am  yet  alive,  but  that  my  life 
is  one  of  expialion.  If  I  only  felt  sure  that  I  had  really  burnt  the 
letters,  or  that  they  reached  him  and  her.  Him  I  need  tell  no 
more.  The  good  mother  noticed  that  something  was  troubling  me 
— something  that  I  had  kept  from  her.  She  often  came  to  me, 
but  asked  no  questions.  At  last  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
told  her  what  I  had  determined  on.  She  took  me  by  the  hand — 
whenever  she  means  to  make  her  words  additionally  impressive, 
she  does  this,  as  if  she  felt  that  she  must  hold  fast  to  me  physically 
—and  said  :  "  Child,  you  Ve  only  to  make  up  your  mind  clearly  as 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  469 

to  what  you  mean  to  do.  Ask  your  own  heart  whether  you  would 
n't  rather  be  discovered.  Ask  your  conscience." 

I  started.  It  is  true,  I  should  not  care  to  do  anything,  but  if  it 
were  to  happen — 

"  Do  n't  give  me  your  answer,"  continued  the  mother ;  "answer 
yourself,  and  then  ask  yourself  whether,  if  you  returned  to  where 
you  once  were,  you  would  n't,  on  the  morrow  or  the  day  after,  wish 
to  be  away  again.  But  let  me  tell  you  one  thing :  whatever  you 
determine  on,  do  it  thoroughly.  Do  n't  write  at  all,  and  let  the 
queen  mourn  you ;  for  it 's  much  easier  to  grieve  for  the  dead 
than  for  one  who,  though  living,  is  lost ;  or  else,  write  to  her  hon- 
estly and  frankly :  '  Here  I  am.'  As  I  said  before,  whatever  you 
do,  let  it  be  done  thoroughly.  O  my  child  !  "  she  added,  "  I  fear  it 
will  be  with  you  as  it  was  with  the  poor  soul.  Do  you  know  the 
story  of  the  poor  soul  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  I  '11  tell  it  to  you.  There  was  once  a  young  girl  who, 
having  gone  astray  and  died  an  early  death,  descended  into  hell ; 
and  there  Saint  Peter  could  always  hear  her  crying,  from  amidst 
the  flames,  '  Paul !  Paul ! '  in  tones  that  were  so  heart-rending  that 
even  the  most  wicked  demons  could  n't  find  it  in  their  hearts  to 
mock  at  her.  So  one  day  Saint  Peter  went  up  to  the  gates  of  hell 
and  enquired  :  '  My  dear  child,  why  are  you  always  crying  "  Paul ! 
Paul!"  in  such  a  pitiful  voice?'  and  the  girl  replied:  'Ah,  dear 
Saint  Peter,  what  are  all  of  hell's  torments  ?  To  me,  they  're  noth- 
ing. Paul  is  worse  off  than  I  am.  How  will  he  endure  life  without 
me  ?  I  only  ask  for  one  thing :  let  me  return  to  the  earth  once 
more  ;  only  for  a  moment,  so  that  I  may  see  how  he  's  getting  on, 
and  I  '11  be  willing  to  remain  in  hell  a  hundred  years  longer.' 

"'A  hundred  years!'  said  St  Peter.  'Consider,  my  child;  a 
hundred  years  is  a  long  time.' 

" '  Not  to  me.  O  I  implore  you  to  let  me  see  my  Paul  once 
more !  After  that,  I  '11  certainly  be  quiet  and  submit  patiently  to 
everything.' 

"Saint  Peter  resisted  for  a  long  while,  but  the  poor  soul  gave 
him  no  peace,  and  at  last  he  said :  '  Well,  you  may  go,  for  all  I 
care  ;  but  you  '11  be  sorry  for  it.' 

"  And  so  the  poor  soul  returned  to  the  earth,  in  order  to  see  her 
beloved  Paul.  And  when  she  got  there,  and  saw  him  feasting  and 
enjoying  himself  with  others,  she  quietly  went  back  to  eternity  and, 
shaking  her  head  sadly,  said  :  '  Now  I  '11  return  to  hell  and  repent.' 
And  then  Saint  Peter  said  to  her :  '  The  hundred  years  you  prom- 
ised are  forgiven  you.  During  the  one  minute  you  passed  on  earth, 
you  suffered  more  than  you  would  have  done  in  a  hundred  years 
of  hell.' 

"  And  that 's  the  story  of  the  poor  soul." 


tfo  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

I  thirst  for  some  spring  outside  of  me,  which  would  refresh  and 
redeem  me.  I  long  for  music,  for  faith,  for  some  soul-liberating 
dedication  of  myself !  I  find  it  not.  I  must  seek  the  spring  within 
myself. 

In  deepest  grief,  it  often  seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  not  I  who  have 
suffered  thus.  1  go  my  way,  and  it  seems  as  if  some  one  were  tell- 
ing me  the  story  of  what  had  happened  to  another. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  know  what  it  is  to  feel  that  I  am 
being  borne  with  and  favored.  I  really  ought  not  to  be  here.  I 
am  eating  the  bread  of  charity.  Now  I  know  how  the  poor  home- 
less ones  must  feel.  If  Hansei  cared  to  do  so,  he  could  send  me 
out  of  his  house  this  very  day,  and  what  would  become  of  me 

then  ? 

Y 

I  am  obliged  to  eat  in  the  company  of  my  hospitable  friends, 
and  I  find  it  no  easy  matter  to  do  so.  I  pity  Hansei,  most  of  all. 
To  him,  it  must  seem  as  if  a  strange  apparition — the  phantom  of 
one  whom  he  knows  not,  was  seated  at  his  table.  I  destroy  his 

happiness. 

> 

I  have  punctured  my  hand  with  the  gimlet,  just  because,  while 
at  work,  I  am  busy  thinking  of  other  things.  My  little  pitchman 
has  brought  me  a  healing  salve. 

Antique  forms  of  beauty  cannot  be  worked  in  wood.  It  is  inflex- 
ible, stubborn  stuff  and  can,  with  difficulty,  be  made  to  yield  to  the 
designs  of  art.  It  is  naught  but  a  makeshift  material. 

"  Oh,  how  glorious  it  must  be  to  live  up  here  !  "  How  often  is 
this  expression  heard  during  country  excursions  !  But  we  forget 
that  the  atmosphere  of  country  parties  and  that  of  home  are  two 
very  different  things.  How  different  when  the  wind  whistles  over 
the  stubble  fields  and  rages  among  the  leafless  forest  trees ;  when 
dull  and  heavy  mists  creep  over  the  mountains  ;  when,  for  days 
and  days,  the  'clouds  hang  upon  the  heights,  and,  now  and  then, 
surfer  a  summit  to  appear  in  phantom-like  outline,  only  to  hide  it 
again  ;  when,  at  night,  the  storms  disturb  your  sleep,  and  it  seems 
as  if  day  would  never  come.  Yes,  ye  pic-nic  spirits,  with  garlands 
of  fresh  leaves  on  your  hats  !  spend  weeks  up  here  without  a  sofa, 
without  fresh  bread  ;  only  think  of  it — without  a  sofa  ! 

f 

Solit  ide  with  happy,  cheerful  memories,  must  needs  be  peaceful 
and  placid.  It  suggests  the  lonely  tree  that  sends  its  roots  through 
the  rich  soil  and  into  the  clear  stream  in  the  valley.  But  solitude 
with  sad  and  dark  memories,  reminds  me  of  the  tree  whose  roots. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  47 r 

ever  striking  against  rocks,  must  pass  over  and  clamber  around 
them.  Thus,  holding  a  rock  in  their  embrace,  they  are  like  a  heart 
laden  with  a  heavy  burden  that  it  can  never  rid  itself  of. 

Perfect  solitude  is  when,  for  a  whole  day,  no  human  eye  has  be- 
held your  face.  It  does  one  good  to  know  that  no  human  eye  has 
seen  you,  and  that  the  glass  that  mirrors  your  features,  is,  as  yet, 
unsullied  by  the  breath  of  another. 

Solitude  is  apt  to  make  one  superstitious.  One  naturally  casts 
about  him  for  some  external  support. 

It  always  alarms  me  when,  on  beginning  work  in  the  morning, 
one  of  my  tools  drops  from  my  hand- .  I  feel  that  the  day  which 
begins  thus,  will  prove  a  sad  and  troubled  one.  I  fight  down  this 
superstitious  feeling. 

He  who  possesses  a  firm  faith,  although  in  solitude,  is  not  alone. 

My  master  is  always  out  of  humor.  His  wife  and  three  daugh- 
ters assist  him  at  his  work.  Hansei  has  advanced  the  pay  for 
my  lessons.  I  am  an  apt  pupil. 

I  notice  that  these  people  regard  me  as  slightly  demented.  The 
little  pitchman  informed  me  that  Hansei  had  given  out  this  report, 
intending  that  it  should  serve  as  a  sort  of  invisible  cap.  This 
gives  me  liberty  and  yet  protects  me,  but  at  times  it  makes  me 
feel  uneasy. 

My  master  also  thinks  that  I  am  out  of  my  mind.  He  ad- 
dresses me  cautiously,  and  is  delighted  when  he  finds  that  I  have 
understood  him. 

* 

The  swallows  are  departing.  Ah  !  I  cannot  deny  that  I  fear  the 
approaching  winter.  If  I  only  do  not  become  ill.  That  were 
terrible  !  It  would  force  me  to  betray  myself  or — no,  I  dare  not  be 
ill.  But  I  am  still  so  nervous.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  mention  it,  but 
it  is  hard  to  bear  it.  A  cow  in  the  stable  near  by  has  a  bell  on 
her  neck,  and  day  and  night  it  keeps  up  its  unrhythmic  tinkling. 
But  I  must  get  used  to  it. 

J.  really  dread  the  winter.  If  it  were  only  springtime,  instead  of 
autumn.  Nature  would  be  my  friend.  Nature  is  the  same  every- 
where. But  now  winter  faces  me.  I  must  reconcile  myself  to  it, 
however,  for  we  cannot  arrange  the  seasons  to  suit  ourselves.  I 
will  learn  which  is  the  stronger,  my  temperament  or  my  will.  I 
shall  impose  no  thoughts  upon  my  mind  but  those  which  ought 
to  engage  it. 

I  have  determined  upon  this. 


472  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  shoemaker  means  to  recognize  C  nderella  by  her  foot—  he 
finds  mine  unusually  small  for  that  of  a  peasant  girl. 
I  trust  that  the  fairy  tale  may  remain  a  fairy  tale. 
That  touching  air  from  Isouard's  Cinderella : 

Good  child,  thou  must  contented  be, 
A  better  lot 's  in  store  for  thee, 

Has  been  haunting  me,  all  day  long. 

How  simple  the  words  !  Music  is  the  fairy  that  invests  Cinder- 
ella's accents  with  royal  robes,  and  entl  rones  them  on  the  lips  of 
all  mankind. 

* 

0  happy  nursery  tale  !     Thou  askest  not  how  the  princess  lived 
as  poultry-maid.      Thy   fancy  uttered  its  creative:   "Let  there 
be — "  and  behold  !'it  was. 

But,  in  life,  such  transformations  are  not  brought  about  without 
great  effort. 

Walpurga  has  rightly  divined  my  feelings.  It  was  but  to-day 
that  she  said : 

"  You  can't  get  used  to  things  here.  Life  here  must  seem  al- 
most as  strange  to  you  as  it  did  to  me  in  the  palace  ;  but,  of  course, 
it 's  easier  to  get  used  to  a  silken  bed  than  to  a  sack  of  leaves." 

1  felt  like  saying :  "  And  if  one  means  to  go  home  again,  it 's  far 
easier  to  put  up  with  such  discomfort,"  but  I  repressed  it.     One 
ought  not  to   torment   such   people  with   logical  consequences. 
Their  thoughts  and  feelings  are  like  the  singing  of  birds,  without 
rhythm  and,  at  best,  like  the  folk-songs,  whose  melodies  close  on 
the  third,  instead  of  on  the  key  note. 

Since  the  alluring,  glittering  life  of  the  great  world  could  at  any 
time  have  been  mine,  I  find  it  easy  to  forego  it. 

Had  I  entered  a  convent  and  were  living  there,  fettered  by  a  vow 
and  subject  to  restraint,  I  know  that  I  should  have  mourned 
away  my  days  behind  the  bars. 

To  be  without  gloves  !  I  never  knew  that  one's  hands  could  be- 
come so  cold.  I  cannot  realize  that  I  am  without  gloves.  When 
he  drew  off  my  glove,  a  shudder  passed  through  me. — Was  it  a 
presentiment  ? 

In  the  mornings  I  feel  the  want  of  a  thousand  little  conveniences, 
with  which  use  had  so  familiarized  me  that  I  scarcely  knew  I  pos- 
sessed them.  I  am  obliged  to  learn  the  affairs  of  every-day  life 
from  the  good  mother.  It  is  just  these  things  that  we  forget  to 
learn.  We  are  taught  dancing,  before  we  are  really  able  to  walk. 

From  cleaning  our  shoes  in  the  morning  to  putting  out  the 


ON  THE  H. 

"^^Bi^^teZL    ^  ^  w  T^,*^^^ 

lamps  at  night,  how  many  are  our  wants,  nowiiiAiiij  TfilTnelping 
hands  we  need  !  What  with  cooking,  washing,  scouring,  drawing 
of  water,  and  carrying  wood,  man  finds  no  time  to  think  of  him- 
self. Nature  furnishes  clothing  and  food  to  the  beasts ;  but  man 
must  spin  and  cook  for  himself. 

I  have  imposed  a  difficult  task  upon  myself,  for  I  have  deter 
mined  to  allow  no  one  to  wait  upon  me.  An  anchorite  cannot  af- 
ford to  be  too  cleanly  or  fastidious  ;  but  then  I  was  not  intended  fof 
an  anchorite. 

* 

At  first  it  oppressed  me  to  think  that  I  had  become  a  Robinson 
Ciusoe  in  spirit,  but  now  I  am  proud  of  it. 

He  who  is  thrown  upon  himself,  and  is  no  longer  able  to  live  in 
accordance  with  custom,  is  cast  away  on  a  desert  island,  and  must 
create  everything  anew  for  himself. 

But  why  should  I,  whose  heart  was  already  borne  down  with  its 
burdens,  be  obliged  to  suffer  shipwreck,  too  ? 

* 

When  I  look  out  into  the  night  and  all  is  dark,  and  there  is  no 
light  to  tell  me:  "Here  are  other  beings  like  yourself,"  I  feel  op 
pressed  with  fear,  as  if  I  were  alone  upon  the  earth  ! 

* 

(October.) — This  evening — Ah  !  the  evenings  are  already  long 
— it  suddenly  occurred  to  me:  There  are  thousands  who  lead  a 
life  of  affluence  and  pleasure,  who  move  in  society,  and  yet — 

Why  should  I  alone  renounce  the  world,  deprive  myself  of  its 
pleasures,  and  bury  myself  in  solitude  ? 

Because  I  must  and  shall !  I  live  only  by  the  favor  and  charity 
of  others.  I  have  wasted  my  life,  trifled  it  away.  Shall  I  try  to 
regain  it  in  bitter  earnest  ?  I  once  trifled  with  words,  but  now  they 
fetter  and  judge  me  ! 

"  You  're  still  too  heavily  laden  ?  "  said  the  grandmother. 

"How  so?  " 

"  If  a  wagon  's  loaded  too  heavily,  you  can't  grease  its  wheels  so 
as  to  stop  their  creaking.  You  must  wait  till  it 's  empty.  Then 
you  can  raise  it  with  a  jack-screw,  take  off  the  wheels  and  grease 
the  axles.  The  burden  you  still  bear  is  the  thoughts  of  the  past ; 
lay  them  aside,  and  you  '11  soon  feel  relieved." 

At  last  I  know  why  I  get  up  in  the  mornings.  Something  seems 
to  say  to  me  :  "  Thou  shalt  labor.  To-day,  this  will  be  finished  ; 
to-morrow,  that."  And  when  I  lie  down  to  rest,  there  is  always 
something  more:  in  the  world  than  there  was  at  daybreak. 

"Work!"  "Work!"  is  the  daily,  hourly  watchword  here. 
They  think  of  nothing  but  work.  It  is  a  necessity  of  their  being, 


474  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

just  as  growth  is  to  the  tree.     It  is  this  that  makes  them  so  self 
reliant. 

* 

There  is  misery  and  discord,  even  here. 

In  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  Walpurga  said  that  she  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  the  old  blind  pensioner's  being  obliged  to 
eat  his  meals  alone,  and  that  she  meant  to  have  him  at  the  table 
with  the  rest. 

"  I  won't  have  it !  "  said  Hansei.  "  Not  a  word  more  about  it; 
I  won't  have,  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  ?  You  ought  to  know  that  yourself.  If  Jochem  has  once 
been  at  the  table,  you  can  never  get  rid  of  him  again.  So  we  'd 
better  not  have  him  at  all.  You  do  n't  know  how  an  old  blind  man 
eats." 

After  that,  not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  meal.  Walpurga 
made  believe  that  she  was  eating,  but  she  was  merely  choking 
down  her  tears,  and  left  the  table  soon  afterward.  She  is  keenly 
sensitive  to  such  rudeness  and  cruelty ;  but  she  never  complains, 
not  even  to  me. 

* 

(During  a  violent  storm.) 

What  a  fright  I  have  had  to-day  !  My  little  pitchman  told  me 
that  a  man  had  hanged  himself  somewhere  in  the  vicinity. 

"  It  had  to  come,"  thought  he.  "  The  man  had  hanged  himself 
fifteen  years  ago,  but  they  cut  him  down,  and  he  lived  on.  But  it 
was  just  as  if  he  always  had  a  rope  around  his  neck — people 
who  've  once  tried  anything  of  that  sort,  never  die  a  natural  death." 

How  his  words  startled  me. 

Can  it  be  that  such  dread  fate  is  yet  in  store  for  me  ? 

I  answer :  No  !  It  shall  not  be  ! 

* 

To  sit  in  my  warm  room  and  look  out  at  the  driving  snowstorm, 
is  like  going  back  in  thought  to  the  hurly-burly  of  the  great 
world. 

Nine  weeks  have  passed  already. 

I  still  have  a  dull,  heavy  feeling,  as  if  I  had  been  struck  in  the 
head  with  a  hammer.  I  merely  exist,  but  it  seems  as  if  life  were 
again  dawning  upon  me.  When  I  awake  in  the  mornings,  I  am 
obliged  to  ask  myself  who  and  where  I  am,  and  to  recall  all  my 
woe.  But  then  work  soon  sum  nons  me  away. 

* 

I  have  nothing  more  to  look  for,  be  it  from  the  outer  world,  01 
die  morrow.  I  am  forced  back  upon  myself  and  the  present. 
For  me,  there  are  neither  letters  nor  books,  and  the  very  roads  are 
closed.  To  arise  in  the  morning  and  know  that  no  tidings, 
whether  of  joy  or  sadness,  can  come  from  without ;  to  have  noth- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  47$ 

ing  to  fall  back  upon  but  one's  self  and  the  undying  laws  of  na- 
ture :  he  who  can  lead  such  a  life,  self-contained  and  yet  contented, 
must  be  like  the  child  illuminated  by  its  own  radiance — the  child 
painted  by  Correggio. 

Hammer  and  axe,  file  and  saw,  all  that  once  seemed  to  me  in- 
struments of  torture  for  poor  enslaved  humanity,  I  have  found  the 
instruments  of  deliverance.  They  banish  the  demons  that  dwell 
within  us.  Where  these  tools  are  wielded  by  industrious  hands, 
evil  spirits  cannot  tarry.  The  redeemer  who  will  consecrate  la- 
bor, is  yet  to  come. 

* 

At  last,  I  find  myself  obliged  to  be  content  without  doing  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  art. 

Although  wood  is  useful,  and  in  many  respects  indispensable,  it 
cannot  be  applied  to  serve  beauty  apart  from  usefulness.  The 
substance  with  which  my  art,  or  rather  trade,  employs  itself  is 
unequal  to  the  demands  of  art,  except  for  decorative  purposes. 
Bronze  and  marble  speak  a  universal  language,  but  a  wooden 
image  always  retains  a  provincial  character.  It  addresses  us  in 
dialect,  as  it  were,  and  never  attains  to  the  perfect  expression  of 
the  ideal.  We  can  make  wooden  effigies  of  animals  or  plants 
with  which  we  are  familiar,  and  can  even  carve  angels  in  relievo, 
but  to  make  a  life-size  bust,  or  human  figure,  of  wood,  were 
entirely  out  of  the  question. 

Wood  carving  is  only  the  beginning  of  art  and  is  faltering,  or,  at 
best,  monotonous,  in  its  expression.  What  has  once  existed  as  an 
organism  cannot  be  transformed  into  a  new  organic  structure. 
Stone  and  bronze,  however,  do  not  acquire  organic  shape,  except 
at  the  hands  of  man. 

If  a  Greek  of  the  days  of  Pericles,  were  to  behold  our  images 
of  the  saints,  how  he  would  shudder  at  our  barbarism. 

* 

This  journal  is  a  comfort  to  me.  I  can  express  myself  in  my 
own  language  and  feel  perfectly  at  home.  I  cannot,  at  times, 
avoid  regarding  my  constant  use  of  the  dialect  of  this  region  as  a 
sort  of  affectation.  Everything  that  I  say  appears  to  me  distorted. 
I  feel  as  if  wearing  a  strange  costume,  and  as  if  my  soul  were 
concealed  behind  an  iron  mask.  Although  I  am  a  child  of  the 
mountains,  the  words  I  utter  seem  strange  and  foreign.  A  dialect 
proves  poverty  of  resources.  It  is  an  imperfect  instrument ;  a 
kettle-drum,  for  instance,  on  which  one  can  play  neither  concertos 
nor  fantasias.  Or,  to  put  it  differently,  the  language  of  Lessing 
and  Goethe  is  like  the  beautiful  butterfly  that  has  left  the  chrysalis 
to  which  it  can  never  more  return. 

Alas !  The  one  terrible  thought  confronts  me  at  every  turn. 
I  have  offended  and  denied  you,  ye  who  represent  the  spirit  of  my 
people  and  of  humanity.  You  fostered  me,  and  I  have  abused 


476  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  gifts  which  education  bestowed  uoon  me.     I  must  remain  in 
exile. 

* 

The  fire  that  still  smoulders  within  me  must  be  extinguished. 
My  heart  is  so  heavy  that  it  seems  to  drag  me  down,  as  if 
weights  were  hanging  to  me, 

* 

I  am  so  weary,  so  exhausted,  that  I  feel  as  though  my  limbs 
must  break  under  me  !  I  should  like  to  do  nothing  but  sleep  ;  to 
sleep  always. 

I  should  like  to  perform  a  pilgrimage  to  some  place  or  person,  as 
an  act  of  expiation. 

I  now  understand  the  basis  of  a  religion  of  symbols — a  religion 
that  speaks  to  the  eye. 

I  will  go  hence— to  Italy,  to  Spain,  to  Paris,  to  the  East,  to 
America.  I  will  go  to  Rome  and  become  an  artist.  I  must  be  one. 
If  I  am  still  to  live  on  in  the  wide  world,  I  must  enjoy  it  fully  and 
deny  myself  nothing,  for  I  am  not  of  a  self-sacrificing  tempera- 
ment. I  could  hurl  the  full  cup  of  life  into  the  abyss,  but  to  see  it 
before  my  eyes,  and  yet  languish  and  mortify  myself — that  I  cannot 
do.  I  will,  I  must  go.  Something  calls  me  hence.  Naples  lies 
before  me.  I  see  a  villa  on  the  shore  ;  merry  excursions  by  water ; 
a  crowd  of  laughing,  singing,  gaily-attired  creatures — I  plunge 
into  the  current  of  life.  Better  there  than  in  that  of  death.  And 
yet — I  cannot — 

A  gloomy,  terrible,  twilight  hour.  Something  urges  me  to  turn 
back,  and  tells  me  that  the  whole  world  is  mine.  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  Are  there  not  thousands  like  me,  who  live  honored,  ob- 
livious of  themselves  ?  What  is  it  within  me  that  whispers :  "  You 
must  expiate?  "  I  can  go  hence.  It  will  seem  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred.  "A  piquant  adventure,"  "a  disappearance  for  a  few 
weeks." — What  more  can  they  say?  All  I  need  is  to  be  bold — 
the  carriage  rolls  along,  all  salute  me.  I  am  beautiful,  and  no  one 
will  see  the  writing  on  my  brow,  for  a  diadem  sparkles  there. 

But  the  terrible  words  are  written  there — it  seems  as  if  I  could 
behold  my  own  soul  face  to  face. 

There  is  a  childhood  of  the  soul  and,  with  all  her  experience,  the 
grandmother  possesses  it.  Oh,  that  I  could  gain  that  childlike 
feeling  !  But  have  not  those  who  seek  it,  for  ever  lost  it  ? 

* 

Old  Jochem  often  brings  his  monev  to  me.  and  makes  me  count 
it  for  him,  piece  by  piece.  He  maintains  that  one  is  so  often  cheated 
in  money  matters. 

My  little  pitchman  told  me  that  the  peasants  almost  always 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  477 

treat  their  aged  parents  who  have  given  up  their  property  t4 
them,  with  great  unkindness,  and  then  he  asked  me  :  "  Why  must 
Jochem  live  so  long  ?  He  has  nothing  in  the  world  but  hatred  and 
mistrust."  I  know  no  answer 

Old  Jochem  is  a  veritable  peasant  Lear,  but  as  he  is  able  to  com- 
plain at  the  court  of  jtistice,  and  has  actually  done  so,  his  case  is 
not  pure  tragedy. 

But  there  is  no  court  of  justice  at  which  a  king  can  complain  ; 
nor  does  he  desire  one  ;  and  hence  his  fate  is  great  and  tragic. 

My  friend,  call  me  when  thou  standest  in  judgment  upon  thy- 
self. I  am  the  only  one  who  dare  accuse  thee,  and  yet  I  accuse 
not  thee,  but  myself.  And  I  am  expiating  my  guilt. 

t: 

The  open  hearth-fire  affords  me  many  happy  moments.  How 
beautiful  a  fire  is !  What  are  all  jewels,  compared  with  it  ? 
Poor  old  Jochem  cannot  see  the  fire*.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  thing 
in  every  house —  Men  should  be  fire-worshipers. 

"You've  had  good  thoughts,"  said  Hansei  to  me, when  I  was 
sitting  by  the  open  window  to-day.  "  I  could  tell  it  by  your  looks." 
He  evidently  longed  to  put  a  question  to  me,  but  he  is  determined 
10  keep  his  resolution.  He  never  asks  me  anything  and,  to  avoid 
doing  so,  often  changes  the  form  of  his  sentences.  I  told  him  my 
thoughts,  and  his  manner  seemed  to  imply :  "  It  is  n't  worth  while 
to  think  of  such  things." 

"Yes,"  said  Hansei  at  last,  "that's  true  enough.  When  one 
sits  by  the  fire,  his  thoughts  will  roam." 

To  Hansei 's  notion,  nothing  in  the  world  is  so  objectionable  as 
taking  a  walk.  He  cannot  conceive  why  one  should  roam  about, 
where  there  is  nothing  to  seek  and  nothing  to  do,  and  why,  under 
such  circumstances,  one  would  not  rather  lie  down  on  the  long 
bench  and  go  to  sleep. 

When  I  think  of  good  Kent,  I  always  imagine  him  as  having  a 
rich,  full  voice,  like  that  of  Bronnen,  whom,  in  his  youth,  he  must 
have  resembled. 

Certain  figures  pass  in  procession  before  my  mind's  eye.  The 
queen  and  Bronnen  are  the  only  ones  ever  present ;  the  king  van- 
ished with  the  forgotten  past.  In  my  dreams,  many  visit  me,  but 
he  never  comes.  Why,  I  know  not.  I  cannot  solve  the  enigma. 

To  one  who,  when  alone,  stops  to  think,  many  things  lose  in 
value,  human  beings  among  the  rest.  Personally,  Gunther  was  no 
more  to  me  than  another  would  have  been.  Emma  was  a  mere 
echo. 

If  we  thus  reckon  over  our  possessions,  we  find  them  little 
enough,  and  I  have  left  but  little  behind  me  in  the  world. 

The  ringing  of  the  sleigh  bells  is  the  only  sound  one  hears.     The 


478  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

woods  are  full  of  busy  workmen.     Snow  and  ice,  which  block  the 
roads  elsewhere,  here  serve  as  highways. 

* 

Labor,  by  sending  its  fruits  out  into  the  world,  places  our  vital 
force  at  the  disposal  of  others.  The  work  which  I  have  fashioned 
goes  out  among  men,  and  yet  I  am  left  undisturbed  in  my  solitude 
and  concealment. 

Man's  work  leaves  him.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  once  met  with 
the  same  idea  in  Ottilia's  journal. 

* 

The  dog  is  the  friend  and  confidant  of  solitary  man.  Lonely, 
deserted  spots,  like  this,  aid  one  to  appreciate  his  faithfulness,  for 
he  fails  not  to  give  notice  of  every  unwonted  occurrence. 

I  often  rush  to  the  window  when  the  dog  barks — who  knows 
what  stranger  may  have  come  ? 

Suppose  the  intendant  or  Gunther  were  suddenly  to  come,  and 
ask  me  to  follow  them  back  into  the  world  ? 

The  very  thought  makes  me  tremble. 

\Vould  1  be  obliged  to  obey  ? 

To  know  that  I  had,  at  one  time,  renounced  the  world,  and  that 
it  was  but  a  step  and  a  leap — makes  it  easier  to  bear  with  life.  I 
am  now  beyond  misfortune's  reach. 

And  yet — if  life  were  to  claim  me  again — 

* 

I  am  but  an  ant  dragging  a  pine-needle. 

* 

I  am  not  quite  forsaken.  I  bear,  within  me,  memories  of  melo- 
dies and  pictures,  and,  above  all,  songs  of  our  great  master,  Goethe. 

"On  every  height  there  lies  repose." 

This  passage  has  occurred  to  me  hundreds  of  times,  refreshing 
me  just  as  if  it  were  a  gentle,  cooling  dew,  falling  upon  a  parched 
field.  I  delight  in  the  harmonious  cadence  and  in  the  simple 
words  ! 

I  could  not  rest  until  I  had  repeated  the  song  to  some  one.  I 
recited  it  to  the  old  pensioner;  he  understood  it,  and  my  little 
pitchman  has  already  gotten  it  by  heart.  How  fortunate  is  the 
poet !  One  short  hour  of  his  life  becomes  undying  to  thousands 
after  him.  How  I  delight  in  these  precious  memories  !  I  am  like 
the  old  pensioner,  who  has  learnt  a  few  songs  and  quietly  sings 
them  to  himself. 

* 

I  am  beginning  to  feel  something  like  veneration  for  the  old  pen- 
sioner. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  479 

Early  this  morning,  he  came  to  me,  dressed  in  his  Sunday 
clothes,  and  wearing  the  medal  which  he  received  in  the  war  of 
liberation.  It  was  not  without  a  certain  air  of  pride  that  he  said : 
"  They  're  reading  a  mass  for  me  at  church  to-day.  I  served  under 
Napoleon  in  those  days,  just  as  the  king  did,  too.  It  was  in  the 
year  '  nine '  and,  on  this  very  day,  up  to  three  o'clock — that  is, 
some  time  between  three  and  four — I  was  sound  and  hearty,  when, 
all  at  once,  I  was  struck  by  a  ball,  here  in  the  third  rib — that 's  why 
I  wear  my  medal  on  the  right  side.  I  fell  to  the  earth,  thinking : 
Good  night,  world  !  God  keep  thee,  my  dear  sweetheart !  She 
who  was  afterward  my  wife,  was  my  sweetheart  at  that  time. 
They  extracted  the  ball  with  a  crossbill,  and  I  kept  on  smoking 
while  they  were  at  work.  My  pipe  never  went  out  once,  and  I  was 
soon  all  right  again.  But  one  does  n't  easily  forget  such  a  day,  and 
60  I  arranged  it,  at  the  church,  that  they  should  read  a  mass  for  me 
on  this  day.  See,  this  is  the  ball  and,  when  they  bury  me,  I  want 
them  to  lay  it  on  my  third  rib." 

He  showed  me  the  ball.  He  carried  it  in  a  leather  purse.  After 
that  a  child  that  he  had  hired  for  the  purpose  led  him  down  into 
the  village. 

I  will  now  be  more  patient  with  the  unfortunate  old  man.  His 
life  was  a  drop  in  the  ocean  of  history — struck  by  the  enemy's  bul- 
let—  !  A  leaden  ball  can  be  extracted,  why  cannot  also — 

When  I  reflect  on  the  daily  events  of  the  life  I  now  lead,  all  my 
thoughts  seem  to  lose  themselves  in  the  one  unsolvable  problem. 

The  grandmother  told  me  a  strange  truth  to  day.  I  had  been 
telling  her  that,  even  in  the  past,  I  had  never  been  perfectly  happy, 
when  she  replied : 

"  You  deceived  yourself.  It 's  always  so  in  the  world.  Those 
who  are  deceived,  have  deceived  themselves,  but  they  're  never 
willing  honestly  to  confess  it. 

* 

Uncle  Peter  is  the  very  embodiment  of  cheerful  poverty.  He  is 
always  in  a  good  humor,  and  I  have  been  the  means  of  making 
him  quite  happy.  He  brings  my  work,  carries  away  what  I  have 
finished,  and,  between  us,  we  have  quite  a  handsome  profit.  He 
also  assists  me  in  preparing  the  wood,  and  he  handles  saw  and 
axe  as  deftly  as  a  bird  does  its  claws  and  beak. 

* 

To-day  I  received  the  first  money  that  I  ever  earned  by  the  work 
of  my  hands.  Uncle  Peter  counted  it  out  to  me  on  the  table.  He 
refuses  paper  money.  Nothing  but  silver  will  satisfy  him.  "  Ready 
money  smiles,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh  in  which  I  could  not  help  join- 
ing. How  small  are  these  gains,  and  yet  how  encouraging.  I  have 
earned  them.  All  my  lifelong,  I  have  merely  enjoyed  what  others 
have  offered  me.  It  was  a  privilege,  inherited  from  my  ances- 
tors, that  others  should  labor  for  me. 


480  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

I  can  now  manage  to  pay  Walpurga  something  for  my  support, 
She  refused  to  receive  pay,  but  I  shall  insist  upon  it. 

It  is  well  that  my  employment  is,  to  a  great  extent,  a  mechanical 
one,  comprising  much  which  is  necessary  and  requires  neither 
reflection  nor  contrivance.  Certain  things  must  be  done,  and  there 
is  but  one  way  of  doing  them.  If  I  were  obliged  to  do  anything 
that  required  great  mental  exertion,  it  would  be  the  death  of  me. 

It  is  now  four  months  since  I  came  here. 
My  hands  have  become  hardened. 

The  treatment  I  receive  from  those  about  me,  satisfies  me  that 
their  affection  for  me  is  sincere. 

* 

If  one  could  only  always  remain  the  same — that  is,  in  the  full 
possession  of  one's  powers. 

I  often  give  way  to  fits  of  depression  and  feel  completely  undone, 
forsaken,  weak  and  helpless,  and  as  if  help  must  come  from  some- 
where. But  whence  ?  and  from  whom  ? 

I  am  obliged,  with  each  succeeding  day,  to  overcome  the  melan- 
choly that  oppresses  me  during  the  mornings.  In  the  evenings,  I 
am  calm — for  I  am  weary  then. 

* 

We  hear  the  falling  rain,  but  not  the  snow.  Bitter  grief  is  vio- 
lent ;  resignation,  calm  and  silent. 

* 

It  is  bitter  cold  up  here ;  but  the  woods  are  near  us,  and  my 
monster  of  a  tile  stove  is  a  faithful  friend  who  preserves  his  warmth. 

* 

Literally  speaking,  when  Hansei  returns  from  the  forest  it  often 
takes  him  an  hour  to  thaw,  and  regain  control  of  his  voice  and 
movements.  Until  then,  it  is  best  not  to  talk  with  him,  for  he  is 
easily  offended  ;  but  when  he  has  thawed,  he  is  quite  happy  again, 
and  always  says  :  "  I  thank  God  that  I  Ve  been  a  woodsman  !  " 

He  is  evidently  thinking  of  some  method  of  improving  the  for- 
ests, but  he  does  not  say  what  it  is. 

The  lower  orders  always  have  overheated  rooms.  They  enjoy 
intoxication,  even  that  of  heat. 

* 

I  have  no  mirror.  There  is  no  need  of  my  knowing  how  I  look. 
A.  mirror  is  the  beginning  and  the  cause  of  self-consciousness. 
A  beast  does  not  see  itself — it  is  only  seen  by  others — and  yet, 
whether  it  be  the  bird  on  yonder  bough,  or  the  cat  that  sits  before 
my  window,  it  adorns  itself.  I,  too,  dress  myself  carefully,  and 
for  my  own  sake,  and  am  ill  at  ease  when  my  clothes  are  loose  or 
illfitting. 

* 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  481 

When  I  first  came  here,  I  found  it  quite  difficult  to  associate 
with  those  about  me,  but  now  I  find  comfort  and  self- forgetfuln  ess 
in  my  intercourse  with  them.  I  should  not  like  to  darken  then 
existence,  but  to  brighten  it,  instead.  They  feel  that  while  I  par- 
take, I  also  contribute  my  share. 

I  think  the  idea  is  Goethe's. 

* 

There  was  great  joy  in  the  house  to-day,  owing  to  the  unex- 
pected visit  of  Walpurga's  friend  and  companion  Stasi,  with  her 
husband,  a  forester.  What  happiness,  what  joy,  and  what  an  in- 
terchange of  experiences  ! 

Hansei  at  once  invited  the  forester  to  be  sponsor  to  his  boy,  for 
boy  it  must  be.  Walpurga  quickly  said  that  she  would  like  to  show 
her  friend  through  the  house,  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  with  her. 

Among  the  higher  classes,  love  may  be  greater,  may  possess  more 
energy,  more  depth,  and  more  of  all  that  is  allied  to  passion  ;  but 
the  lower  orders  seem  to  possess  greater  faithfulness  and  constancy. 
Work  teaches  us  to  be  faithful. 

* 

I  have  been  out  in  the  forest  with  Hansei.  Oh  how  beautiful ! 
We  passed  a  frozen  waterfall ;  the  crystal  columns  sparkled  in  the 
sunshine.  Hansei  pointed  out  two  trees  that  were  far  up  the 
mountain.  He  means  to  have  them  felled  for  me,  so  that  I  may 
have  the  best  wood  for  my  work.  Am  I  expected  to  work  up  two 
whole  trees  ? 

Hansei  was  quite  amused,  when  I  told  him  I  had  not  forgotten 
his  rule  of  the  mountain  :  "Go  right  on,  and  never  stop." 

Mountain-climbing  in  winter  has  made  me  very  tired,  but  I  feel 
quite  well. 

* 

I  have  often  wondered  why  I  never  heard  any  mention  of  Han- 
sei's  family.  The  little  pitchman  has  just  told  me  that  his  mother 
died  an  early  death,  and  that  he  never  knew  his  father. 

This  accounts  for  much  in  Hansei's  behavior,  and  only  renders 
it  the  more  beautiful. 

* 

We  are  feasting  on  meat  broth. 

Great  is  Hansei,  the  dispenser  of  good  ! 

Yes,  he  is  great.  How  all  our  illusions  vanish  !  An  Homeric 
hero  who  cuts  up  swine  and  cooks  and  roasts  them,  remains  a  hero 
for  all,  and  Hansei  is  as  good  as  any  of  them,  although  it  be  not 
with  the  sword. 

There  is  Homeric  feasting  throughout  the  farm.  They  all  bite 
with  teeth  as  good  as  those  of  Menelaus. 

* 

The  greatest  blessings  are  pure  blood,  steeled  sinews  and  strong 
nerves. 

21 


482  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

But  he  who,  besides  these,  possesses  a  quiet  conscience  is  tht 
happiest  of  creatures. 

* 

I  love  the  twilight — day  fading  into  night.  He  who  lives  in  com- 
munion with  nature  is  the  only  one  whose  life  does  full  justice  to 
each  day. 

Man  is  the  only  being  who  lives  far  into  the  night.  Light  and 
fire  make  us  what  we  are. 

Schnabelsdorf  the  omniscient,  once  said:  "The  hour  at  which 
men  retire  is  the  measure  of  their  civilization." 

At  court,  they  are  just  sitting  down  to  dinner.  They  are  joking 
and  laughing,  and  telling  each  other  anecdotes.  If  I  were  suddenly 
to  appear  among  them  ? 

Xo,  I  skall  not  disturb  ye  ! 

In  a  little  while,  they  will  be  driving  to  the  theatre.  Is  n't  to- 
day— ?  I  had  almost  forgotten  it — yes,  this  is  my  birthday.  It  was 
to-day  a  year  ago  that  I  went  to  the  ball,  in  the  character  of  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  and  it  was  there  he  said  to  me — it  was  in  the 
palmhouse — I  can  still  hear  his  soft  voice:  "I  have  purposely 
chosen  this  day.  You  alone  are  to  know  it.  You  and  I." 

Oh  !  that  night ! 

I  wonder  if  they  are  thinking  of  me  there  ? 

The  Egyptians,  at  all  their  festivals,  displayed  mementoes  of 
their  dead.  I  cannot  write  any  more — I  will  light  the  candle — I 
must  work. 

* 

There  is  a  deaf  mute  who  lives  down  in  the  village  and  works  at 
coarse  wood  carvings.  He  has  neither  learned  to  read  nor  to 
write,  nor  has  he  ever  had  any  religious  instruction.  He  knows 
nothing  at  all ;  but  he  does  know  the  church  festivals,  the  holidays, 
and  Shrove  Tuesday  especially.  On  those  days  he  will  plant  him- 
self, with  his  umbrella,  in  front  of  the  church,  and  watch  the  peas- 
ants as  they  go  by.  If  he  sees  one  who  pleases  him,  he  walks  up 
to  him,  takes  off  his  coat  and  sits  down  at  the  table  and,  without 
saying  a  \vord,  they  give  him  food  and  drink  for  three  days. 

And  thus  he  happened  to  come  to  our  house.  Sometimes  he 
cries,  and  cannot  tell  why,  but  he  endeavors  to  express  himself  by 
dumb  motions.  The  little  pitchman  declares  that  he  cries  be- 
cause he  can't  eat  any  more. 

I  have  tried  to  make  myself  intelligible  to  him,  but  we  do  not 
understand  each  other. 

* 

(Ash  Wednesday.) — To-day,  even'  one  in  the  house  is  silent  and 
thoughtful.  Even'  brow  was  strewn  with  ashes,  while  they  re- 
peated :  "  Mortal !  remember  that  thou  art  dust." 

Ah  !  mine  is  a  long  Ash  Wednesday,  after  a  mad  carnival ! 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  483 

In  my  mind's  eye,  I  often  behold  the  picture  of  the  Egyptian 
princess.  Her  garments  have  fallen  from  her  nude  form  and,  with 
loosened  hair,  she  kneels  in  prayer  by  her  open  grave. 

When  wilt  thou  receive  me,  all-merciful  mother  earth  ? 

I  am  reminded  of  the  simple  grandeur  of  Antigone's  answer  U 
Creon,  who  has  just  announced  to  her  the  sentence  of  death : 

"I  knew  that  I  should  die  ;  thou  only  tellest  me  when." 

I  shall  quietly  bear  the  consequences  of  my  actions,  relying-  on 
myself,  looking  for  no  aid,  either  material  or  spiritual,  from  without. 

When  the  people  have  finished  repeating  the  Ave  Maria  during 
the  tolling  of  the  vesper  bell,  they  say  "Good  evening"  to  each 
other.  It  is  a  beautiful  custom,  and  seems  to  say  that  they  have 
returned  from  heaven  unto  those  whom  they  love  on  earth. 

When  there  is  no  one  by,  Walpurga  always  addresses  me  as 
"Countess,"  and  treats  me  with  the  deference  she  deems  me  enti- 
tled to. 

Everything  seems  reversed.  At  one  time,  I  used  to  address  him 
familiarly  in  private,  and  in  public — 

Ah  !  that  one  memory  forever  thrusts  itself  in  my  way ! 

If  I  were  to  become  sensitive,  it  would  be  the  most  terrible  thing 
that  could  happen  to  me.  Perhaps  I  am  so,  already.  The  sensi- 
tive being  is  as  one  unarmed  among  those  who  are  fully  armed,  as 
one  unveiled  where  all  the  rest  are  masked. 

I  will,  I  must  be  strong  ! 

Walpurga  brought  me  some  flower-pots  to-day,  with  rosemary, 
geranium  and  oleander. 

Hansei  had  brought  them  from  the  place  of  a  great  doctor  who, 
he  says,  lives  at  some  distance  from  here,  in  the  valley.  His  gar- 
dener is  allowed  to  sell  plants,  and  Walpurga  brought  them  to  me, 
saying :  "  You  've  always  had  flowers  about  you,  and  these  will  last 
through  the  winter." 

These  few  plants  make  me  happy.  The  flower  does  not  ask 
what  sort  of  a  pot  it  is  in,  so  long  as  it  gets  its  share  of  sunshine 
and  rain.  What  enjoyment  do  those  who  dwell  in  the  palace  have, 
of  the  hothouse  flowers  ?  They  neither  planted  nor  tended  them  : 
they  are  strangers  to  each  other. 

Hansei  came  to  me  to-day  and  said  : 

"  Irmgard,  if  I  've  ever  wronged  you — though  I  do  n't  know  that 
I  have — I  beg  you  to  forgive  me  ! " 
"  What  makes  you  ask  me  that  question  ?  " 
"Because  to-morrow  we  go  to  confession  and  communion." 


484  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  tears  that  fall  upon  these  pages  are  my  confession,  a  confes 
sion  that  I  cannot  frame  in  words. 

* 

Why  was  I  obliged  to  cross  the  threshold  of  evil  before  entering 
this  circumscribed  and  yet  peaceful  existence  ?  Why  not  pure  and 
free,  proud  and  strong  ? 

I  have  somewhere  read  that  Francis  of  Assisi,  returning,  earl} 
in  the  morning,  with  the  merry  fellows  who  had  been  his  comrades 
in  the  drinking  bout  of  the  night  before,  was  suddenly  seized  by 
tne  Holy  Spirit  and,  renouncing  the  world,  led  a  holy  life  ever  after- 
ward. 

And  must  it  always  be  through  paths  of  sin  ? 

But  far  sadder  is  the  question  :  Why  were  you,  O  queen  !  obliged 

to  suffer  thus  ? 

* 

I  often  wander  about  the  fields  in  the  pouring  rain,  and  feeling 
like  a  prisoner.  What  keeps  me  here  ?  what  lures  me  hence  ? 

I  lead  the  life  of  a  prisoner,  confined  by  walls  and  iron  gratings 
formed  by  my  own  will. 

I  endure  all  the  pain  of  exile  ! 

I  live  in  a  state  of  torpor.     Why  must  I  wait  for  death  ? 

It  often  seems  to  me  as  if  I  were  lying  at  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
and  yet  cannot  awake  and  rise. 

Whither  should  I  go  ? 

The  thought  sometimes  flashes  across  the  desert  waste  that 
fills  my  soul,  and  drags  me  along,  like  a  powerless  rider  mounted 
on  some  enchanted  steed :  "  You  know  nothing  of  the  world  you 
have  left  behind  you  :  those  who  are  about  you  conceal  what 
knowledge  they  may  possess,  and  you  dare  not  ask." 

How  would  it  be  if  the  queen  were  dead,  and  he  who  once  loved 
you  and  whom  you  loved  in  return — ah,  so  deeply  ! — were  doubly 
alone  and  forsaken,  and  grieving  because  of  thee  ?  Let  him  have 
but  the  faintest  token  that  you  are  still  alive,  and  he  will  come  for 
you,  and,  mounted  on  a  white  palfrey,  you  shall  again  enter  the 
palace  as  queen.  All  will  be  expiated,  all  will  be  forgiven.  You 
will  be  a  friend  to  the  people.  You  know  them,  for  you  have  lived 
and  suffered  with  them —  This  thought  often  seizes  me  and  envel- 
ops me,  as  it  were,  in  an  enchanted  net.  I  cannot  rid  myself  of 
it,  and  I  seem  to  hear  voices  and  trumpet  tones,  calling  me  hence, 
I  have  not  yet  quieted  the  wild  brood  that  dwell  in  my  soul. 

Mysterious  demons  slumber  within  our  souls.  At  the  faintest 
call,  they  raise  their  heads  and  crawl  from  their  hiding  place. 
They  have  cunning  eyes  and  can  readily  change  their  shapes. 
They  can  appear  as  virtues,  and,  borrowing  priestly  robes,  can 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  485 

speak  the  language  of  sympathy :  "  Have  pity  on  yourself  and 
others."  They  make  a  show  of  their  power  and  love  of  action, 
and  say :  "  You  can  bestow  happiness  on  one  and  on  many.  You 
can  do  great  and  good  service  to  one  and  to  the  multitude." 

I  annihilated  them.  I  held  the  light  up  to  their  eyes,  and  they 
vanished. 

Thou  livest,  queen  !  Friend  whom  I  have  so  deeply  injured, 
thou  livest !  I  do  not  ask,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know,  whether  thou  art 
dead. 

Thou  livest,  and  my  only  wish  is  that  thou  mightst  know  of  the 
life  of  repentance  that  I  am  now  leading,  and  how  little  compas- 
sion I  have  for  myself. 

The  GreeK  drama,  "Prometheus  Bound,"  occurs  to  me.  Pro- 
metheus was  the  first  anchorite.  He  was  fettered  from  without  • 
we  fetter  ourselves  by  vows  or  the  rules  of  an  order. 

I  am  neither  a  Prometheus,  nor  a  nun. 

* 

There  is  but  one  thing,  which  the  outer  world  might  afford  me, 
that  I  still  long  for,  and  that  is  the  music  of  a  large  orchestra. 
Fortunately,  I  often  hear  it  in  my  dreams.  How  strange  !  While 
sleeping,  my  soul  plays  on  all  instruments,  and  performs  great  or- 
chestral works  which  I  never  entirely  succeeded  in  committing  to 
memory. 

We  lead  a  dual  life  after  all. 

9 

Freedom  and  labor  are  the  noblest  prerogatives  of  man. 
Solitude  and  industry  constitute  my  all  in  all. 

Walpurga  has  never  referred  to  the  warning  she  once  gave  me. 
With  a  rude  hand,  she  snatched  me  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
and,  in  return,  I  scolded  and  deceived  her,  while  deceiving  myself. 
She  represses  everything  that  might  remind  me  of  that  scene. 

* 

To-day,  Jochem  confided  to  me  the  one  grief  that  clouds  his 
life  :  "They  lead  old  oxen  and  cows  to  the  slaughter-house,"  said 
he ;  "  old  horses  and  old  dogs  they  shoot,  and  old  men  they  feed 
to  death— that 's  all  the  difference." 

* 

The  dwelling-house  on  our  farm  has  been  neglected  and  is  sadly 
in  need  of  repair ;  but  Hansei  is  not  inclined  to  begin  building  at 
once. 

"We  must  make  shift  with  the  old  house,"  he  says,  "the  work 
must  be  done  first."  And,  besides  this,  he  has  a  certain  dread  of 
what  people  may  say.  The  house  had  been  good  enough  for  those 
who  had  been  there  before  him — why  should  n't  it  be  good  enough 
lor  him  ? 


486  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Even  the  farmer,  on  his  lonely  estate,  is  not  perfectly  independ- 
ent. He  who  cares  for  the  opinion  of  others,  must  allow  it  to 
affect  his  actions. 

These  are  the  chains  that  make  slaves  of  us  all. 

* 

(March  ist.) — Joy  and  happiness  have  entered  the  house.  New 
light  has  awakened  in  me,  too,  as  if  my  life  were  something  more 
than  mere  darkness.  Walpurga  has  a  boy.  Hansei's  happiness 
is  complete,  and  he  never  mentions  the  boy  except  as  "the  young 
freeholder." 

* 

The  christening  is  over.  I  felt  sorry  that  I  was  unable  to  ac- 
company them  to  church,  but  I  could  not. 

I  have  laid  the  peasant's  garb  aside.  It  was  in  place  while  I 
was  a  fugitive,  but  now  I  have  no  further  need  of  it.  I  wear 
dresses  of  simple  calico,  like  those  worn  by  many  of  the  country 
people  who  employ  themselves  with  housework.  All  that  I  have 
retained  is  my  green  hat,  which  I  find  quite  useful,  as  it  helps  to 
hide  my  face. 

I  have  laid  aside  many  outer  garments ;  how  many  inner  ones 
must  I  still  put  off? 

* 

Fear  and  anxiety  are  gradually  leaving  me. 

I  have  been  at  the  village,  and  for  the  first  time.  The  houses 
stand  apart,  on  the  mountain  meadows.  Viewed  from  above,  they 
almost  look  like  a  scattered  flock  of  sheep. 

The  rushing  of  the  waters  and  the  rustling  of  the  forests  sound 
so  strangely  at  night,  and  yet  the  rushing  and  rustling  are  un- 
ceasing. How  vain,  how  small  is  the  child  of  man  ! 

Oh,  how  delightful  it  is  to  be  awakened  by  the  song  of  the  finch, 
and  to  find  all  nature  refreshed  by  the  invigorating  morning  air ! 

(April  1 9th.) — A  heavy  fog  all  day.  The  mist  forms  a  veil 
which  hides  nature's  death  and  awakening  from  view. 

The  nightingale  by  yonder  brook,  sings  all  day  long  and  through 
the  night.  What  unwearying  power!  What  an  inexhaustible 
fount  of  song  ! 

While  I  write,  its  song  seems  to  come  nearer,  as  if  it  knew  that 
I  long  for  it. 

* 

I  see  every  opening  bud,  and  wait  to  see  the  ferns  unfold  their 
leaves.  Even  the  rough  maple  has  a  delicate  blossom.  Every- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  487 

thing  is  blooming  or  singing.     There  is  music,  even  in  the  cackling 
of  the  hens.     The  world  is  full  of  infinite  variety. 

* 

Oh,  how  delightful  to  watch  for  every  green  leaf,  and  for  the  open- 
ing of  every  bud.  Nature  's  greatest  charm  is  that  she  is  never  in 
haste.  She  can  wait,  and  all  we  need  do  is — to  wait  upon  her. 

* 

At  first,  we  attempt  to  note  every  stage  of  growth,  but  we  soon 
find  that  an  impossibility. 

It  needs  but  a  single  rainy  day,  and  all  the  buds  burst.  Bright 
spring  is  with  us  once  again.  Spring  produces  a  sort  of  mental  un- 
rest which  seems  to  move  in  a  course  parallel  with  the  impulse  at 
work  in  nature. 

* 

The  drooping  birch  is  laden  with  rich  clusters  of  blossoms,  and 
its  branches  are  swayed  to  and  fro  in  mute  yet  melodious  move- 
ments. 

* 

The  best  self-forgetfulness  is  to  regard  the  things  of  this  world 
with  love  and  attention. — Perhaps  attention  already  presupposes 
love,  and  that  of  the  most  unselfish  kind. 

* 

A  cuckoo  comes  quite  close  to  the  house  at  early  morning  and 
utters  its  cry. 

(Whitsuntide.) — The  preparations  for  the  festival  afford  much 
pleasure,  more  perhaps  than  the  festival  itself.  What  kneading  and 
baking,  and  what  joy  at  the  successful  completion  of  the  festal 
cake. 

Joy  which  we  have  prepared  for  ourselves  is  perfect  joy.  And 
now  comes  the  festival.  Trees  and  human  beings  seem  blooming 
with  life,  and  yonder  forest  is  borne  towards  us  in  the  Whitsuntide 
favors  they  bring  into  the  house. 

Hansei  has  a  new  suit  of  the  style  worn  in  this  section  of  the 
country.  When  he  walked  over  the  farm  to  day,  the  kindly  "  good 
morning"  which  he  bestowed  upon  every  one,  seemed  full  of  happi- 
ness. 

I  am  very  sorry  that  I  am  again  unable  to  accompany  them  to 
church.  The  festal  feeling  reaches  its  climax  in  church-going,  but, 
even  at  home,  the  air  is  laden  with  the  fragrant  odor  of  the  birch 
and  holiday  cake. 

* 

(May  24th.) — We  have  had  a  furious  spring  storm,  accompanied 
by  thunder  and  lightning.  The  trees  swayed  to  and  fro  and  bent 
as  if  they  would  break. 

"  That 's  bad,"  said  my  little  pitchman,  "  though  it 's  good  for 


*8S  ON  TLE  HEIGHTS. 

the  rye.  A  storm  in  springt'ine  brings  cold  weather,  while  one  in 
midsummer  makes  the  days  warmer  than  before." 

How  well  this  symbolizes  precocious  passion. 

The  bright  sunshine  has  returned.  I  have  been  out  of  doors. 
Millions  of  blossoms  are  strewn  about  the- ground  and,  in  the 
forest,  lay  many  dead  young  birds.  They  had  ventured  out  of 
their  nests  too  soon  ;  the  rain  had  wet  their  young  wings  and  they 
could  not  return.  Besides  that,  the  nest  no  longer  contained  room 
for  them.  Forsaken  and  hungry,  there  was  nothing  left  them  but 
death  ! 

Nature  is  terrible.  It  labors  long  and  patiently  to  bring  forth  a 
being  which  it  suddenly  and  wantonly  suffers  to  die. 

Sundays  go  hardest  with  me.  One  is  used  to  look  for  some- 
thing unusual  on  that  day.  We  put  on  a  particular  dress  and  ex- 
pect the  world  to  do  the  same.  On  that  day,  more  than  on  all 
others,  I  feel  that  I  am  in  a  strange  world. 

The  brook  murmurs  and  the  birds  sing,  just  as  they  did  yester- 
day. What  right  have  I  to  ask  them  to  sing  me  a  different  song 
to-day  ? 

Nature  has  no  moods ;  they  belong  to  man  alone. 

In  this  lies  a  heavy  burden. 

In  former  days,  while  watching  the  forms  and  colors  of  the 
clouds,  I  was  obliged  to  look  up  into  the  sky.  But  now  I  see  them 
resting  on  the  earth  below  me. 

I  can  pass  hours,  watching  the  passing  clouds  and  their  ever 
changing  forms  as  reflected  on  the  mountains.  The  earth  itself 
was  fashioned  from  such  fluid  masses.  No  artist  can  realize  the 
extent  of  this  cloud-world,  or  its  wealth  of  form.  Before  our 
thoughts  attain  fixed  shape,  they,  too,  must  pass  through  this 
nebulous  state,  in  which,  however,  we  are  unable  to  perceive  them. 

Singing  birds,  in  great  variety,  have  clustered  at  the  edge  of  the 
forest.  The  notes  of  the  lark,  the  yellow-hammer,  the  green  finch, 
the  blackbird,  the  thrush,  the  redtail,  and  the  titmouse  are  heard 
all  at  once.  Only  a  few  of  the  birds  that  build  their  nests  deep 
in  the  forest,  sing  there. 

In  springtime,  forest  rills  become  brooks.  In  summer,  naught 
's  visible,  save  the  dry  bed  of  the  stream.  It  is  the  same  with  our 

own  lives. 

* 

When  old  'ochem  hears  me  rejoice  because  spring  has  come,  he 
always  says  "  What  does  it  signify  ?  In  a  few  weeks,  the  days 
will  begin  to  shorten  again." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  489 

If  human  beings,  like  the  trees,  bore  visible  blossoms,  these 
blossoms  would  assume  a  different  shape  and  color,  with  each  suc- 
ceeding year.  The  blossoms  of  my  soul  were  once  so  bright ;  but 
now — 

* 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  have  seen  a  pair  of  eagles  soaring 
in  the  air.  What  a  life  theirs  must  be  !  They  hovered  far  over- 
head, and  described  a  circle  in  their  flight.  About  what  were  they 
circling  ?  Then  they  soared  still  higher  and  vanished  in  the  em- 
pyrean. 

The  world  still  contains  spirits  whose  flights  are  as  free  and  as 
bold  as  that  of  the  eagle.  There  is  no  creature  that  soars  above 
the  king  of  birds,  no  enemy  that  can  approach  him.  But  man 
sends  forth  the  fatal  ball  and  thus  exerts  an  influence  in  regions 
which  the  eye  alone  can  pierce. 

He  too  was  filled  with  pride  when  he  had  shot  an  eagle.  And 
why  ?  Because  it  was  a  proof  of  his  power  ;  and  he  adorned  my 
hat  with  the  token  of  his  victory.  Ah,  woe  is  me  ! 

Why  does  this  grief  constantly  return  to  me  ? 

# 

We  women  are  never  alone  in  nature.  This  is  only  another 
proof  of  the  deep  truth  that  lies  in  the  old  tradition.  Man, 
created  first,  was  alone ;  but  woman,  who  came  afterward,  never 
existed  alone.  This  repeats  itself  through  the  history  of  all  na- 
tions, and  a  perplexing  mystery  is  at  last  revealed  to  me. 

* 

In  the  world  of  fashion,  just  as  in  the  park,  the  traces  of  foot- 
steps are  effaced  by  obsequious  servants.  There  must  be  nothing 
to  remind  us  of  yesterday. 

And  yet  their  life  is  to  form  a  part  of  history. 

To  cease  doing  evil,  is  not  doing  good. 

I  would  like  to  accomplish  some  great  deed.     But  where  ? 

Within  myself  alone. 

* 

My  little  pitchman  is  quite  a  changed  being  when  among  scenes 
of  nature.  He  does  not  love  nature.  To  use  his  own  words,  it 
merely  amuses  him.  He  delights  in  the  most  trifling  peculiarities 
of  bird-life,  and  how  well  he  knows  all  the  birds  ! 

* 

(Many  rainy  days.) — I  long  for  the  sun,  and  ami  almost  dying  for 
the  want  of  it.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  fading,  as  if  perishing  with  thirst 
—I  cannot  live  without  the  sun.  It  is  my  debtor  for  the  lovely 
May  days  of  which  I  have  been  deprived.  I  must  have  them  ; 
they  are  my  only  comfort. 

* 

If  I  remain  thus  dependent  upon  the  weather,  permitting  every 
21* 


490  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

cloud  to  darken  my  mind,  and  every  shower  to  chill  me  with  the 
feeling  that  I  am  forsaken,  it  were  far  better  I  were  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake,  and  that  the  boatman  were  telling  those  whom 
he  was  ferrying  across:  "Far  below  us,  lies  a  young  maid  of 
honor."— I  have  once  before  bade  farewell  to  the  sun,  and  I  mean 
to  be  independent  of  it. 

# 

There  are  beings  who  know  nothing  of  rain  and  sunshine,  and 
)  et  live. 

But  there  are,  also,  others  who  are  filled  with  dew-forming 
power — but  they  are  the  calm,  self-contained,  powerful  natures, 
whose  life  is  an  inner,  rather  than  an  outer,  one. 

* 

(June  1 2th.) — After  many  hot  days,  there  was  rain  last  night. 
The  drops  are  still  glittering  on  even-  leaf  and  flower.  Oh,  the  de- 
lightful morning  that  has  succeeded  the  nocturnal  storm  !  To  have 
fully  enjoyed  such  a  morning  is  worth  the  trouble  of  living. 

Jochem  has  a  lark  in  a  cage — he  must  have  something  shut  up 
with  him. 

The  lark  affords  me  great  delight.  There  are  but  few  of  them 
up  here,  for  we  have  nothing  but  meadow  land.  They  love  to 
hover  over  the  fields  of  grain  down  in  the  valley. 

After  the  midsummer  solstice,  the  woods  become  silent.  The 
sun  now  merely  ripens,  and  has  ceased  to  call  forth  blossoms  and 
song.  The  finch  alone  keeps  up  his  merry  lay. 

From  my  window,  I  can  see  the  white  foal  grazing  in  the 
meadow.  He  knows  me.  When  I  look  up,  he  stands  still  for 
awhile  and  looks  at  me,  and  then  dashes  hither  and  thither  at  a 
furious  rate.  I  have  named  him  Wodan,  and  when  I  call  him  by 
that  name,  he  comes  to  me. 

I  have  sketched  the  foal,  and  am  now  carving  it  in  birch.  I 
think  I  shall  succeed,  but  wood  is  obstinate,  awkward  stuff,  after 
all.  I  lose  my  patience  on  slight  provocation.  I  must  try  to  over- 
come this. 

* 

Ycstei  day  was  a  year  since  I  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  rock.  I 
could  not  write  a  word.  My  brain  whirled  with  the  thoughts  of 
that  clay  ;  but  now  it  is  over. 

1  do  n't  think  I  shall  write  much  more.  I  have  now  experienced 
all  the  seasons  in  my  new  world.  The  circle  is  complete.  There 
is  nothing  new  to  come  from  without.  I  know  all  that  exists  about 
me,  or  that  can  happen.  I  am  at  home  in  my  new  world. 

* 

Unto  Jesus  the  scribes  and  pharisees  brought  a  woman  who 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  491 

was  to  be  stoned  to  death,  and  he  said  unto  them  :  "  Let  him  that 
is  without  sin  among  you,  cast  the  first  stone." 

Thus  it  is  written. 

But  I  ask  :  How  did  she  continue  to  live  ?  She  who  was  saved 
from  being  stoned  to  death  ;  she  who  was  pardoned,  that  is,  con- 
demned to  live  ?  How  did  she  live  on  ?  Did  she  return  to  her 
home  ?  How  did  she  stand  with  the  world  ?  And  how  with  her 
o  vn  heart  ? 

No  answer.     None. 

I  must  find  the  answer  in  my  own  experience. 

"Let  him  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  cast  the  first  stone,  ' 
These  are  the  noblest,  the  greatest  words  ever  uttered  by  human 
lips,  or  heard  by  human  ear.  They  divide  the  history  of  the 
human  race  into  two  parts.  They  are  the  "let  there  be  light"  of 
the  second  creation.  They  divide  and  heal  my  little  life,  too,  and 
create  me  anew. 

* 

Has  one  who  is  not  wholly  without  sin,  a  right  to  offer  precepts 
and  reflections  to  others  ? 

Look  into  your  own  heart.     What  are  you  ? 

Behold  my  hands.  They  are  hardened  by  toil.  I  have  done 
more  than  merely  lift  them  in  prayer. 

Since  I  am  alone,  I  have  not  seen  a  letter  of  print.  I  have  no 
book  and  wish  for  none ;  and  this  is  not  in  order  to  mortify  my- 
self, but  because  I  wish  to  be  perfectly  alone. 

# 

She  who  renounces  the  world,  and,  in  her  loneliness,  still  cher- 
ishes the  thought  of  eternity,  has  assumed  a  heavy  burden. 

Convent  life  is  not  without  its  advantages.  The  different  voices 
that  join  in  a  chorale  sustain  each  other,  and  when  the  tone  at  last 
ceases,  it  seems  to  float  away  on  the  air  and  vanish  by  degrees. 
But  here  I  am  quite  alone.  I  am  priest  and  church,  organ  and 
congregation,  confessor  and  penitent,  all  in  one ;  and  my  heart  is 
often  so  heavy,  as  if  I  must  needs  have  another  to  help  me  bear 
the  load.  "  Take  me  up  and  carry  me,  I  cannot  go  further  !  "  cries 
my  soul.  But  then  I  rouse  myself  again,  seize  my  scrip  and  my 
pilgrim's  staff  and  wander  on,  solitary  and  alone;  and  while  I 
wander,  strength  returns  to  me. 

For  the  first  time  in  a  year,  I  saw  a  carriage  driving  up  the  white 
road  that  leads  through  the  valley.  Those  who  were  sitting  in  it, 
could  not  know  how  my  eyes  followed  them.  Whither  go  ye? 
who  are  ye  ? 

* 

I  must  write  again.     I  believe  that  I  at  last  know  the  full  mean- 


492  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ing  of  the  word  "gemiithlich."  It  includes  careful  thought  for 
the  comfort  of  others  even  in  the  merest  trifles,  and  requires  ©ne 
to  put  himself  in  another's  place.  It  is  the  heart,  expressing  itself 
in  poetry  ;  it  is  feeling,  clothing  itself  in  the  garb  of  fancy. 

True  culture  includes  this  feeling  ;  for  what  is  culture  but  the 
power  to  put  one's  self  in  another's  place,  and  "  to  see  ourselves 
as  others  see  us?  " 

My  opinion  is  still  unchanged.  Hansei  seems  dull  and  awkward, 
and  yet  he  has  far  more  of  the  best  culture  than  many  a  one  who 
is  decorated  with  orders  and  epaulettes  and  is  regarded  as  one  of 
the  most  charming  of  cavaliers. 

* 

I  constantly  keep  thinking  that  there  is  something  in  me  which 
I  have  not  yet  discovered.  It  gives  me  no  rest.  Is  it  an  idea,  a 
feeling,  a  word,  or  a  deed  ?  I  know  not,  but  I  feel  that  there  is 
something  within  me  that  seeks  a  vent.  Perhaps  death  may  come 
before  I  discover  it. 

* 

Old  Jochem  still  remembers  a  fe\v.  verses  from  the  hymnbook, 
and  keeps  repeating  them  to  himself,  but  in  such  perverted  shape 
that  they  are  sheer  nonsense.  I  offered  to  teach  him  the  verses 
correctly,  but  this  made  him  very  angry  and  he  told  me  that  I  was 
trying  to  teach  him  something  new,  and  that  it  would  not  answer. 
His  nonsense  seems  dear  to  him.  He  does  not  understand  it,  and 
the  air  of  mystery  thus  imparted  to  it  renders  it  far  more  im- 
pressive. 

* 

One  who  has  never  experienced  the  feeling,  cannot  know  what 
it  is  to  long  for  a  few  words  of  conversation  with  your  equals. 
It  is  a  consuming  thirst.  Any  one  who  can  speak  my  language 
would  serve  my  purpose.  I  cannot  endure  this  strain.  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  in  a  strange  land,  and  were  vainly  listening  for  the  beloved 
accents  of  my  native  tongue.  It  is  well  for  me  that  I  can  work. 

* 

As  long  as  I  had  Walpurga  with  me  in  the  palace,  I  could  speak 
to  her  freely  on  various  subjects.  When  I  came  to  her,  it  was  a 
change,  a  stepping  out  of  the  sphere  in  which  my  thoughts  were 
accustomed  to  move.  But  here,  where  I  have  her  and  nothing 
else,  it  is  different.  It  is  not  pride  —  for  what  have  I  to  do  with 
pride  ?  Is  it  alienation,  or  is  it  sullen  listlessness  ? 


c  pleases  us  only  for  a  short  time.  Wisdom  always  re- 
mains attractive  —  such  wisdom  as  mother  Beate's  or  Gunther's. 
Yes,  I  long  for  him  most  of  all. 

Wisdom  is  cultured  naivett  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  the 
ttan'ete  of  genius.  It  is  the  rosy  apple  ;  naiveti,  the  blossom  from 
which  it  sprang,  still  dwells  in  the  fruit,  as  its  core. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  493 

Night  and  day,  the  various  elemental  influences,  clear  perception 
and  the  mysterious  forces  of  nature : — all  these  help  to  perfect  the 

finest  fruit. 

* 

I  cannot  look  upon  work  as  the  noblest  thing  in  life.  The  per- 
fect man  is  he  who  does  nothing,  who  cherishes  himself — ;  such  is 
the  life  of  the  gods,  and  what  is  man  but  the  god  of  creation  ? 

My  heresy  thus  expresses  itself.  I  have  confessed  and  repented 
of  it.  But  in  the  confessor's  chair  sits  one  who  is  in  the  right  when 
he  says :  "  Very  well,  my  child !  And  so  the  noblest  and  most 
exalted  life  is  simply  existence,  void  of  effort.  But,  since  no  on<; 
can  live  unless  some  other  being  labors  for  him,  it  follows  that  all 
must  do  something.  Nothing  can  be  had  without  pay.  The  one 
class  has  not  been  sent  into  the  world  merely  to  exist,  nor  the  other 

merely  to  labor." 

* 

How  happy  I  might  become  if  there  were  no  past.  A  life  here- 
after, filled  with  memories — how  sad  the  thought !  And  yet  with- 
out memories,  would  it  be  a  second  life  ? 

# 

True  joy  at  last  dwells  with  us.  Whenever  we  partake  of  any- 
thing, Walpurga  always  says:  "We  planted  this  ourselves;  on 
such  a  day,  we  set  our  beans.  I  put  them  in  Burgei's  hand,  and 
she  dropped  them  on  the  garden  beds." 

And  thus  it  seems  to  be  with  all  things.  The  past  is  being  re- 
newed to  us. 

* 

I  have  found  it  difficult  to  go  over  the  same  task,  again  and 
again.  But  the  constant  repetition  is  what  constitutes  labor. 
Without  that,  it  is  mere  amusement. 

Nature  constantly  repeats  herself,  and  we  must  serve  her  by  im- 
itating her.  She  repeatslierself  through  her  laws  ;  man,  through 
his  duties. 

I  have,  nevertheless,  indulged  in  variations,  and  not  without 
success.  While  walking  through  the  stable,  I  observed  the  cow 
lowing  and  turning  towards  her  sucking  calf.  I  have  carved  the 
figures  in  wood. 

I  should  like  to  imitate  every  object  in  nature — to  create  the  world 
anew,  as  it  were,  so  that  men  might  see  all  things  as  I  see  them. 

I  thank  Thee,  Eternal  Spirit,  for  bestowing  these  gifts  upon  me. 

The  chief  aim  of  life  is  not  joy,  nor  is  it  repose.  It  must  be 
labor.  Perhaps  there  is  no  chief  aim,  after  all. 

* 

Love  and  labor  are  the  body  and  soul  of  mankind.  Happy  is 
he  in  whom  they  are  united.  I  have  forfeited  love — nothing  is 
left  me  but  labor. 


494  0Ar  THE  HEIGHTS. 

My  white  foal !  It  looks  at  me,  and  I  look  at  it  in  return.  Free 
and  uncontrolled,  it  scampers  about  the  field,  and  yet  I  seize  it  and 
send  it  out  into  the  world,  so  that  others,  too,  may  delight  in  the 
pretty,  playful  animal. 

I  have  sketched  it  in  various  positions.  Its  every  movement  is 
replete  with  strength  and  grace. 

* 

I  have  carved  the  figure  of  my  white  foal,  and  have  completed 
il  with  incredible  rapidity.  My  friends  are  astonished,  and  so  am 
I  I  look  upon  it  as  a  success. 

M\  little  pitchman — Why  should  I  dislike  to  mention  it? — 
carried  the  figure  down  to  the  dealer.  It  grieved  me  to  part  with 
my  work,  but  the  little  magic  horse  must,  and  does,  support  me. 
It  was  sold  at  a  good  price,  and  I  received  a  large  order,  besides. 

Sometimes,  I  find  myself  wondering  what  Countess  Brinkenstein, 
pious  Constance,  Schnabelsdorf,  or  Bronnen,  would  say,  if  they 
were  to  see  me  now ;  and  at  such  moments,  I  am  obliged  to  look 
around,  in  order  to  satisfy  myself  that  they  are  not  present. 

So  long  as  I  cannot  govern  my  imagination,  I  am  not  free. 
Fancy  is  the  most  powerful  of  despots. 

* 

Our  fountain  gushes  and  bubbles  the  whole  night  through,  and 
when  the  moonlight  rests  upon  it,  it  is  lovelier  and  more  peaceful 
than  ever.  The  earth  bounteously  gives  forth  its  healing  waters. 
They  flow  unceasingly.  All  that  we  need  do  is  to  go  to  the  spring 
and  drink.  My  favorite  seat  is  near  there.  Its  waters  sometimes 
suddenly  increase  in  volume  and  swiftness,  as  if  they  were  bring- 
ing me  a  special  message.  Perhaps  it  is  all  caused  by  the  cur- 
rents of  air,  and  I  may  be  mistaken  after  all.  One  easily  gives 
way  to  reverie  when  by  the  spring. 

* 

Gundel,  the  little  pitchman's  daughter,  affords  me  much  pleasure. 
The  honest,  kind-hearttd,  simple-minded  creature  is  now  full  of 
joy ;  she  loves,  and  is  loved  in  return. 

One  of  the  farm  hands  is  a  native  of  Hansei's  birthplace.  He 
was  once  in  the  cuirassiers,  and  this  faithful,  but  rough  and  ill- 
favored  lad  is  Gundel's  lover.  A  girl  whom  no  one  has  noticed, 
whose  life  has  been  constant  drudgery,  is  invested  with  new  im- 
portance, both  in  her  own  eyes  and  in  those  of  others,  as  soon  as 
she  becomes  the  object  of  a  man's  love.  All  that  she  does  is  re- 
garded as  good  and  pretty,  and  she  is  at  once  lifted  up  out  of  her 
lowly  and  forgotten  state. 

Love  is  the  crown  of  every  life,  a  diadem  even  on  the  lowliest 
head. 

When  Gundel  goes  about  her  rough  work — to  draw  water,  or  to 
feed  the  cattle — she  seems  radiant  with  new-born  happiness. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  495 

Although  I  have  said  nothing,  she  notices  that  I  am  interested 
in  her,  and  she  often  asks  whether  there  is  anything  she  can  do  for 
me. 

I  wish  that  riches  were  again  mine,  so  that  I  might  make  these 
lovers  happy. 

How  foolish  is  the  desire  to  be  ever  original.     Nature  constantly 
repeats  herself.     The  rose  of  to-day  is  like  that  of  yesterday. 
Men  determine  for  themselves — and  in  this  lies  their  torment. 

¥ 

I  have  not  yet  put  vanity  away  from  me.  I  am  still  moved  to 
delight  whenever  a  happy  expression  flows  from  my  pen.  But  is 
this  really  vanity  ?  I  think  not.  Although  alone  in  my  cell,  I 
adorn  myself  for  my  own  sake.  Beauty  has  become  a  necessity  to 
me.  I  must  be  surrounded  by  objects  of  beauty,  and  must  also 
possess  it  in  myself.  Uncouthness  does  not  offend  me,  but  ugliness 
affects  me  just  as  discords  do.  In  the  so-called  cultivated  world, 
a  rude  expression  excites  a  deprecatory  "  Ah  !  "  while  elegant  vul- 
garity is  smiled  upon. 

t> 

I  am  obliged  to  read  old  Jochem's  bond  to  him,  at  least  once  a 
week.  Although  he  knows  it  by  heart,  he  insists  upon  hearing  it 
again  and  satisfying  himself  that  it  is  all  right,  and  properly  signed 
and  sealed.  He  does  not  suffer  it  to  leave  his  hands.  I  am 
obliged  to  read  it  while  he  holds  it.  He  trusts  no  one. 

The  old  man  almost  seems  to  regret  that  he  has  nothing  to  com- 
plain of,  and  is  constantly  urging  me  to  prepare  a  memorial  to  the 
king,  so  that  he  may  have  it  at  hand  when  required.  How  strange 
that  the  king  should  always  seem  to  him  the  personification  of 
right  and  justice. 

He  has  much  to  tell  me  about  the  late  king,  under  whom  he 
served.  He  describes  him  as  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  says  that  he 
often  hunted  in  this  region.  He  has  been  informed  that  the  present 
king  is  not  much  of  a  hunter,  and  that  he  sticks  to  the  priests,  who, 
in  return,  grant  him  absolution.  He  always  concludes  by  asking 
whether  I  have  ever  seen  the  king,  and,  although  I  have  answered 
"  No  "  a  hundred  times,  he  keeps  on  repeating  the  same  question. 

* 

Hansei  was  right,  after  all !  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  crave  his  par- 
llon.  It  is  a  disgusting  sight  to  behold  the  old  pensioner  at  his 
meals  ;  and  if  one  does  not  intend  to  have  him  at  table  for  the 
remainder  of  his  life,  one  had  better  not  begin  with  him.  Hansei's 
objection  was  kind  and  clever,  not  rude  and  ill-natured.  Kind  re- 
solves that  cannot  be  fully  carried  out,  had  better  not  be  attempted, 

When  I  spoke  of  this  to  Walpurga  to-day,  she  answered  me, 
through  her  tears,  saying:  "I  'd  a  thousand  times  rather  hear  you 
praise  him  than  me." 


496  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

It  is  not  until  humanity  becomes  a  duty  that  we  can  truly  know 
whether  its  exercise  is  a  pleasure  or  a  sacrifice. 

Naturally  enough,  I  have  treated  Jochem  kindly,  have  often  had 
him  visit  me,  and  have  tried  to  entertain  him.  'Now  he  will  not 
leave  me  to  myself,  and  robs  me  of  my  only  possession — solitude. 
Although  it  cost  me  an  effort,  I  was  obliged  to  insist  upon  his  only 
visiting  me  during  certain  hours.  But  even  that  is  irksome,  for  I 
am  no  longer  perfect  mistress  of  my  time.  When  the  bell  in  the 
valley  tolls  the  hour  of  twelve,  the  old  man  comes  and  sits  with 
me.  Our  conversations  are  not  very  fruitful  or  suggestive.  His 
stock  of  ideas  is  but  a  limited  one,  and  topics  that  are  not  related 
to  them  fail  to  excite  his  interest.  Besides  that,  he  coughs  a  great 
deal,  and  is  always  asking  me  to  tell  him  about  my  father.  He 
•seems  to  forget  that  I  have  already  told  him  that  I  never  knew  my 
father.  It  was  the  saddest  thing  I  ever  said,  but  I  did  not  know 
my  father  while  he  lived.  I  understood  him  not,  although  he  at- 
tempted to  reveal  himself  to  me.  From  the  depths  of  my  soul,  I 
cry  out  to  him  :  "  My  poor  father  !  you  tried  to  perfect  yourself,  but 
your  last  action,  although  it  was  meant  to  arouse  me,  was  the  act 
of  one  who  was  in  fetters.  I  now  accomplish  what  you  falteringly 
began.  While  laboring  for  you,  my  love  for  you  has  become  full 
and  complete.  You  are  now  near  to  me,  and  have  become  what 
you  longed  to  be — my  preserver." 

I  have  at  last  made  it  a  rule  that  the  old  man  shall  only  come 
when  I  send  for  him.  I  could  not  do  otherwise.  And  this  I  find 
almost  worse  than  to  have  fixed  hours  for  his  visits,  for  now  I  am 
often  obliged  to  stop  and  ask  myself:  "  Is  n't  it  time  to  call  the  old 
man  ?  He  won't  disturb  me  now."  He  thus  engages  my  thoughts 
more  than  before. 

I  must  learn  to  bear  with  him  patiently,  and  Jochem  will  surely 
improve.  When  I  say  to  him  :  "  I  can't  talk  now,"  he  is  satisfied. 
All  that  he  asks  is  to  be  permitted  to  sit  there  in  silence. 

How  well  one  sleeps  when  tired  with  work.  How  good  it  is  to 
have  hunger  and  fatigue,  when  one  is  able  to  satisfy  their  demands. 

In  the  great  world,  they  eat  and  sleep,  but  are  never  tired  or 
hungry. 

I  never  knew  how  much  I  used  to  talk,  and  how  necessary  con- 
versation had  become  to  me.  But  now  that  I  have  learne'd  how 
to  be  silent,  and  live  alone  with  my  own  thoughts,  I  do  know.  I 
now  .see  that  the  presence  of  others  exerted  an  electric  influence 
upon  me,  overcharging  my  nature.  I  was  never  unreal,  but  was 
more  than  I  really  am.  I  made  others  cheerful,  but  how  rarely 

was  I  so  ! 

* 

Labor  is  the  consoling  friend  and  companion  of  solitude. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  497 

He  who  has  not  lived  alcne,  does  not  know  what  labor  is. 

* 

I  am  often  reminded  of  Dante's:  "There  can  be  no  greater 
Buffering  than,  in  one's  misery,  to  remember  happier  days."  But 
why  does  he  not  tell  us  what  kind  of  happiness  he  means  ?  It 
must  always  be  delightful  to  remember  innocent  joys,  though  the 
unhappiness  that  follows  be  ever  so  great. 

But  Francesca  refers  to  happiness  allied  with  guilt.  And  I 
Know  that  she  is  right. 

I  still  remember  my  father's  parting  advice :  "  Indulge  only  in 
sr.ch  pleasures  as  it  will  afford  you  pleasure  to  look  back  upon." 

What  strange,  hidden  springs  flow  through  one's  soul.  Ever 
since  the  sad  saying  of  Dante's  occurred  to  me,  all  my  thoughts 
have  been  translating  themselves  into  Italian. 

* 

It  often  seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  sinful  thus  to  bury  myself  alive. 
My  voice  is  no  longer  heard  in  song,  and  much  more  that  dwells 
within  me  has  become  mute. 

Is  this  right  ? 

If  my  only  object  in  life  were  to  be  at  peace  with  myself,  it  would 
be  well  enough — but  I  long  to  labor  and  to  do  something  for 
others.  Yet  where  and  what  shall  it  be  ? 

* 

When  I  first  heard  that  the  beautifully  carved  furniture  of  the 
great  and  wealthy  is  the  work  of  prisoners,  it  made  me  shudder. 
And  now,  although  I  am  not  deprived  of  freedom,  I  am  in  much 
the  same  condition.  Those  who  have  disfigured  life  should,  as  an 
act  of  expiation,  help  to  make  life  more  beautiful  for  others.  The 
thought  that  I  am  doing  this  comforts  and  sustains  me. 

* 

My  work  prospers.  But  last  winter's  wood  is  not  yet  fit  for  use. 
My  little  pitchman  has  brought  me  some  that  is  old,  excellent  and 
well  seasoned,  having  been  part  of  the  rafters  of  an  old  house  that 
has  just  been  torn  down.  We  work  together  cheerfully,  and  our 
earnings  are  considerable. 

Vice  is  the  same  everywhere,  except  that  here  it  is  more  open. 
Among  the  masses,  vice  is  characterized  by  coarseness  ;  among 
the  upper  classes,  by  meanness. 

The  latter  shake  off  the  consequences  of  their  evil  deeds,  while 
he  former  are  obliged  to  bear  them. 

The  rude  manners  of  these  people  are  necessary,  and  are  far  pref- 
erable to  polite  deceit.  They  must  needs  be  rough  and  rude.  If 
it  were  not  lor  its  coarse,  thick  bark,  the  oak  could  not  withstand 
the  storm. 


498  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

I  have  found  that  this  rough  bark  covers  more  tenderness  and 
sincerity  than  does  the  smoothest  surface. 

* 

Jochem  told  me,  to-day,  that  he  is  still  quite  a  good  walker,  but 
that  a  blind  man  finds  it  very  troublesome  to  go  anywhere  ;  for.  at 
every  step,  he  is  obliged  to  grope  about,  so  that  he  may  feel  sure  of 
his  ground  before  he  firmly  plants  his  foot  on  the  earth. 

Is  it  not  the  same  with  me  ?  Am  I  not  obliged  to  be  sure  of  the 
ground  before  I  take  a  step  ? 

Such  is  the  way  of  the  fallen. 

Ah  !  why  does  everything  I  see  or  hear  become  a  symbol  of  my 
life  ? 

* 

Our  life  here  is  like  that  of  plants.  Our  chief  care  is  as  to  the 
weather.  Rain  and  sunshine  affect  us  as  they  do  the  plants  that 
require  their  aid.  Hansei  often  complains  that  he  does  not  under- 
stand the  weather  signs  hereabouts.  In  his  old  home  by  the  lake, 
he  could  always  tell  how  the  weather  would  be.  His  want  of 
knowledge  on  this  subject  prevents  him  from  feeling  quite  at  home 
here.  Our  little  pitchman,  however,  is  a  most  reliable  weather- 
prophet  and  has  thus  come  to  be  looked  upon  as  quite  an  impor- 
tant personage.  I  am  his  docile  scholar  and  he  is  quite  proud  of  me. 
Although  he  is  quite  intimate  with  me,  and  often  indulges  in  pleas- 
antry, he  never  fails  to  treat  me  with  great  respect. 

Those  who  know  nothing  of  etiquette,  often  make  up  for  the 
want  of  it  by  their  tact.  I  congratulated  the  little  pitchman  last 
\veek.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  birthday,  and  when  I  shook 
hands  with  him,  his  face  grew  scarlet.  He  thanked  me  heartily, 
and  kept  saying  that  when  he  got  to  heaven,  he  would  bespeak 
good  quarters  for  me,  and  that  his  old  woman  would  n't  get  angry 
if  he  possessed  both  her  and  myself  in  the  next  world.  He  is 
always  happy  when  serving  me.  When  he  builds  a  fire  in  my 
stove,  he  ogles  every  log,  as  if  it  ought  to  feel  it  an  honor  to  be 
permitted  to  help  keep  me  warm. 

* 

The  census  troubled  me  greatly  to-day.  After  dinner,  Hansei 
produced  the  blank  which  he  was  required  to  fill,  and  handed  it  to 
Walpurga,  with  the  words:  "Do  you  write,  or  let  her" — meaning 
me — "write  her  name,  her  age,  and  where  she  comes  from?  " 

We  were  in  great  tribulation,  until  Walpurga,  at  last,  solved  the 
difficulty  by  saying  that  there  was  no  need  of  telling  everything. 

The  remark  was  quite  opportune  and  afforded  a  convenient  ex- 
cuse to  Hansei,  who  was  greatly  annoyed  by  another  schedule,  in 
which  he  was  expected  to  state  the  annual  yield  of  milk  and  of  but- 
ter, the  number  of  chickens  on  the  farm,  etc.,  etc.  Hansei  was 
angry  at  the  officials,  and  felt  quite  sure  that  they  meant  to  impose 
Another  tax.  His  wrath  saved  me,  but  defrauded  the  state  out  of 
one  soul. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  499 

The  people  hereabouts  look  upon  the  state  and  its  functionaries 
as  their  natural  enemies,  and  have  no  scruples  as  to  deceiving 
them. 

* 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  have  seen  a  tree  felled. 

I  was  filled  with  awe  when  I  saw  it  topple  for  a  moment,  before 
th :  final  crash.  It  reminded  me  of  the  fate  of  a  man  who  is,  at 
one  blow,  hurled  from  sunny  heights  into  the  depths  of  misery. 

Hansei  is  having  a  path  cut  through  the  forest.  It  passes  by  my 
window,  and  the  clearing  will  afford  me  a  fine  view.  He  was  quite 
happy  when  I  told  him  of  this. 

Hansei  was  at  the  capital.  On  his  return,  he  unwrapped  a  large 
parcel  and,  with  conscious  pride,  showed  us  what  sensible  presents 
he  had  bought.  They  were  the  pictures  of  the  king  and  queen. 

In  his  kindness  of  heart,  he  offered  to  let  me  hang  up  the  pic- 
tures in  my  room,  and  was  quite  provoked  to  find  that  his  wife 
wanted  to  keep  them  for  herself.  I  satisfied  him  at  last  by  saying : 
"The  sitting-room  belongs  to  us  all." 

But  the  pictures  seemed  to  be  looking  at  me  constantly,  and 
made  it  unpleasant  for  me  to  remain  in  the  room.  Walpurga 
noticed  this  and,  to  my  great  relief,  removed  them  to  her  bedroom. 
Hansei  does  not  take  notice  of  such  matters. 

The  king's  portrait  represents  him  in  the  dress  of  a  citizen.  Is 
it  a  sign  that — ? 

* 

Hansei  at  last  reveals  his  plan.  It  is  quite  a  clever  stroke  of 
his  to  begin  by  cutting  roads  through  the  forest,  so  that  the  beams 
can  be  brought  down  from  far  up  the  mountain,  and  thus  fetch 
him  thrice  as  much  money  as  if  they  were  cut  into  smaller  logs. 

(April  3rd.) — At  first,  there  is  so  much  to  observe.  The  whole 
world  seems  like  a  young  child,  or  like  the  first  verdure  of  spring. 
Later,  one  grows  accustomed  to  it  all,  and  it  seems  as  if  things  were 
always  and  everywhere  alike.  It  seems  to  me  that  life  would  be 
insupportable,  if  the  world  were  ever  new  and  left  us  no  repose. 

Habit,  our  second  mother,  is  a  good  mother,  too. 

* 

They  have  fastened  a  rope  to  the  feet  of  my  white  foal,  so  that 
it  cannot  run  away.  It  can  now  only  move  about  slowly.  The 
freedom  and  grace  of  its  movements  are  gone,  even  before  it  is 
put  in  harness. 

Oh,  how  many  human  beings  have  a  like  fate  ! 

-)c 

I  love  to  watch  the  rain  calmly  descending  upon  the  earth.  If  I 
were  not  obliged  to  work,  I  could  remain  by  my  window  for  hours, 
lost  in  reverie  and  looking  out  and  listening,  for  it  seems  to  me  as  if 


500  <ZV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

I  were  endowed  with  a  million  eyes  and  could  see  every  drop  as  ii 
falls  on  the  half-open  buds.  But  here,  we  are  all  constantly  at 
work.  I  am  ashamed  to  sit  here  with  my  hands  in  my  lap.  The 
rain,  in  springtime,  is  soft  and  beautiful,  lending  voice,  form  and 
substance  to  the  air,  and  to  every  tiny  rill. 

* 

Formerly,  I  always  required  a  spyglass,  where  I  no  longer  need  it. 
It  is  because  we  do  not  live  in  the  open  air,  that  we  "Become 
near-sighted. 

The  rose  may  be  improved  by  cultivation,  and  the  thorns  grow- 
ing on  its  stalk  may  become  different  from  what  they  were ;  but 
they  are  thorns,  nevertheless. 

* 

(April  1 5th.) — I  have  heard  the  yellow-hammer,  for  the  first  time 
this  year.  In  springtime,  its  notes  are  far  more  rapid  and  short 
than  in  summer. 

* 

(April  23d.) — The  first  swallow  has  come.  Now  may  we  softly 
lull  ourselves  to  rest  in  the  consciousness  that  sweet  spring  is  with 
us  once  again.  The  uncertain  and  anxious  fluttering  from  one  fail 
day  to  another,  is  at  an  end. 

My  little  pitchman  says  :  "  Swallows  and  starlings  come  and  go 
in  the  night."  The  idea  is  quite  suggestive. 

(End  of  April.) — We  have  had  a  shower.  Oh,  what*  fragrant 
odors  it  awakened  in  flowers,  grass  and  trees  !  And  this  fragrance 
floats  off  into  infinite  space,  while  we  short-lived  children  of  man 
imagine  that  it  all  exists  for  us.  Everything  that  exists,  exists  for 
itself  alone. 

The  immortelle  is  one  of  the  earliest  plants  to  shoot  forth  its 
leaves.  It  grows  by  the  edge  of  the  forest  and  will  thrive  even  in 
poor  soil. 

* 

(May  ist.) — We  have  had  a  cold,  rainy  day  with  hail.  Towards 
evening,  when  the  rain  had  ceased  and  the  drops  on  the  trees  and 
bushes  sparkled  in  the  golden  sunlight,  I  heard  the  cuckoo,  for  the 
first  time  this  year.  He  flew  from  forest  to  forest,  from  mountain 
to  mountain,  crying  everywhere. 

I  now  know  why  they  say  :  "  Go  to  the  cuckoo."  *  The  cuckoo 
has  no  nest,  no  home  of  its  own  and,  according  to  popular  tradi- 
tion, is  obliged  to  sleep  on  a  different  tree  every  night.  "  Go  to  the 
cuckoo,"  therefore  means:  "be  restless  and  fugitive;  be  at  home 
nowhere." 

When   I   told   the  grandmother  of  my  discovery,   she   said: 

*"GehzumKukuk!" 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  501 

"  You  Ve  hit  it  exactly.     You  manage  to  get  some  good  out  o 
everything.     You  've  won  it." 

She  meant  that  I  had  won  the  game  of  life. 

* 

My  kind  little  pitchman  has  given  me  an  unexpected  treat.  He 
has  arranged  a  seat  for  me,  up  by  the  maple  tree  on  the  projecting 
rock.  But  he  cut  away  the  bushes,  and  thus  destroyed  the  privacy 
of  my  favorite  haunt.  Nevertheless,  I  find  it  pleasant  to  sit  there. 
No  human  being"  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  what  another  may  do 
for  him,  but  we  may  be  grateful,  for  all ;  and  gratitude  is  the  soil 
on  which  joy  thrives. 

(First  Sunday  in  May.) — On  Sunday  afternoons,  when  I  may 
not  work,  I  long  to  drive  through  the  park  in  a  caleche  which  is 
easy  on  its  springs ;  not  to  be  always  walking  or  obliged  to  be  do- 
ing something.  To  move  through*  the  world  in  the  springtime, 
seated  on  soft  cushions  and  drawn  by  fleet  horses,  or,  what  is  still 
better,  to  ride  along  the  turfy  forest  paths,  while  guiding  and  con- 
trolling a  strong  power — I  can  never  forget  that. 

At  night,  when  I  look  up  into  the  vast,  starry  vault,  with  its  myriad 
glittering  orbs,  I  find  it  difficult  to  sit  or  to  walk.  I  think  of  the 
nights  when,  lying  back  in  my  carriage,  I  drove  out  into  the  wide 
world  and  looked  up  at  the  stars.  How  free  everything  was  then  ! 

I  am  still  much  affected  by  trifles. 

* 

There  are  days  when  I  cannot  endure  the  forest,  when  I  do  not 
wish  for  shade.  1  must  then  have  the  sun — nothing  but  light  and 
sunshine.  At  such  times,  I  walk  along  the  hot  and  shadeless 
meadow  paths. 

* 

I  now  have  a  window-shelf  filled  with  flower  pots.  How  differ- 
ent when  one  has  to  wait  for  the  flowers  to  come  up,  instead  of 
receiving  them  in  full  bloom  from  the  gardener. 

* 

The  evenings  are  my  enemy — always  heavy  and  dull.  Morn  is 
my  friend,  for  then  everything  is  bright.  How  different  it  once 

was! 

* 

The  mental  state  of  those  who  are  out  in  the  world  may  be 
likened  to  the  physical  condition  of  Baroness  Constance.  There 
is  a  constant  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  she  knows  nothing  of  holy 
repose  or  perfect  silence.  It  is  not  until  one  ceases  to  know  any- 
thing of  the  world,  or  to  care  for  it,  that  this  mental  ringing  in  the 
ears  ceases,  and  holy  repose  and  calm  are  vouchsafed  us.  Ever) 
sound  which  then  enters  is  as  a  marvel. 

* 


502  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  grandmother  is  quiet  and  alert,  just  as  occasion  may  require. 
She  is  not  one  of  the  ever  busy  and  excited  ones,  and  yet  she  is 
never  idle.  With  her  great  knowledge  of  human  nature,  she  yet 
retains  her  kindly  feelings  towards  all.  She  has  thought  much  and 
yet  is  naive.  She  treats  me  with  affectionate  frankness,  and  says 
that  she  has,  all  her  life,  wished  to  have  a  clever  person  about  her 
— one  who  had  learnt  something  and  with  whom  she  could  talk 
about  everything.  And  she  does  this  to  the  letter.  I  am  obliged 
to  explain  a  thousand  things  to  her,  and  she  is  sincerely  grateful 
for  any  information  I  can  give  her. 

"  I  like  to  get  my  kindling-wood  ready  in  time,"  said  she  to-day. 
Translated  into  our  language,  this  means  that  she  likes  to  think 
over  things  beforehand. 

But  there  are  so  many  dark  doors  which  we  pass  with  closed 
eyes. 

While  watching  the  foal  to-day,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that 
the  first  man  who  tamed  a  beast — that  is,  subdued  it  so  that  it 
would  bear  him  and  support  him — was  the  first  to  assert  the  power 
of  humanity.  Other  animals  can  kill  each  other,  but  not  one  of 
them  can  guide  another  life  to  its  own  advantage.  There  are  no 
.new  species  of  beasts  to  be  tamed  now.  Men  are,  in  truth,  becom- 
ing poets.  They  condense  the  intangible  forces  and  say  to  steam, 
to  light,  and  to  the  electric  spark  :  "  Come  and  do  my  bidding." 

I  have  bought  some  sugar  with  which  to  feed  my  white  foal.  It 
is  a  great  pleasure,  and  to-day  I  could  not  help  thinking  that,  if 
any  one  saw  us,  it  must  have  been  a  pretty  picture. 

Oh,  how  vain  and  trifling  I  still  am  ! 

Every  large  and  extended  estate,  be  it  this  very  farm,  or  the 
court  at  the  capital,  has  its  vassals,  its  servants,  its  parasites,  its 
willing  subjects.  The  world  is  the  same  everywhere. 

* 

Peasant  life  is  not  the  elegant  world,  but  there  must  be  plough 
horses  as  well  as  carriage  horses. 

* 

To  live  out  of  one's  self,  to  give  full  sway  to  one's  native  tem- 
perament, to  remain  unmoved  by  external  influences : — thus  may 
one  learn  to  know  himself  and  that  which  is  highest.  It  is  in  the 
desert  waste  that  God  reveals  himself  to  the  individual  heart. 
The  bush  burns  and  yet  is  not  consumed. 

* 

Whenever  I  look  at  the  mountains,  I  am  impressed  anew  with 
their  sublimity. 

The  world  below  me  is  covered  by  a  sea  of  mist,  from  which  the 
mountain  peaks  here  and  there  protrude.  With  ever}'  day,  as  it 
were,  I  behold  the  first  day  of  creation. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  503 

I  am  beginning  to  understand  the  idea  of  the  sublime.  It  is  the 
awe  of  greatness,  not  the  awe  of  fear.  I  feel  as  if  dwelling  in  a 
temple. 

Solitude  often  makes  one  dull  and  torpid.  I  sometimes  experi- 
ence this  even  in  myself. 

On  a  rainy  Sunday,  Hansei  will  often  stand  looking  out  of  the 
window,  for  hours  at  a  time.  I  feel  satisfied  that  his  first  thoughts 
are  of  a  horse,  a  cow,  the  sale  of  his  wood,  or  of  some  acquaint- 
ance. At  last,  he  falls  into  a  sort  of  waking  dream,  and  thinks  of 
nothing  at  all.  One  awakes  from  this  childlike  lying  down  and 
gazing  into  the  world,  as  from  strengthening  and  refreshing  sleep. 
It  is  indeed  only  another  form  of  elementary  existence. 

* 

Judging  by  my  notes,  I,  at  one  time,  thought  this  merely  a 
station  in  my  journey,  where  one  is  detained  by  interest  or  ad- 
venture ;  but  now  I  see  that  I  am  at  the  goal. 

I  will  lay  down  my  load,  as  the  grandmother  advised  me  to  do, 
and  break  the  chests  to  pieces.  I  shall  remain  here  for  the  rest  of 
my  life.  And  now  that  I  have  firmly  resolved  to  remain — even  if 
I  were  discovered  to-morrow,, and  the  whole  world  heaped  its  scorn 
upon  me — 1  have  a  happy  feeling  of  being  at  home.  I  am  here 
and  here  I  shall  remain. 

I  was  not  reminded  of  all  this  until  to-day,  when  my  little  pitch- 
man said  :  "  You  look  so  pleased,  so — I  do  n't  know  how.  but — you 
never  looked  so  before." 

Yes,  my  dear  little  pitchman,  you  are  right ;  it  was  not  until  to- 
day that  I  felt  myself  truly  at  home.  I  have  struck  root,  like  the 
cherry  sapling  before  my  window. 

The  old  pensioner  said  to  me  to-day :  "  Behold,  my  child,  age 
takes  much  from  us ;  but  I  can  still  dream  as  beautifully  as  I  did 
in  my  youth." 

Of  all  the  flowers,  I  find  the  heaviest  dew  on  the  rose.  Is  that 
because  of  the  rich  perfume  ?  Does  the  perfume  form  dew  ?  No 
green  leaf  ever  has  so  much  dew  on  it,  as  the  leaf  of  a  flower. 

* 

I  often  feel  tempted  to  tell  the  story  of  Leah  to  the  whole  house- 
hold, Jochem  included. 

It  often  annoys  me,  when  I  think  that  I  do  not  impart  all  I  have 
to  my  friends  ;  but  how  much  more  it  would  annoy  me,  if  I  were 
misunderstood  by  them. 

Even  in  our  day,  art  and  religion  are  far  asunder. 

The  latter  can  be  imparted  to  all;  the  former  cannot. 

* 

It  is  impossible  to  interest  the  masses  in  refined  pleasures.    Dur- 


504  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

ing  the  week,  they  have  nothing  but  hard  work ;  and  on  Sunday, 
they  find  recreation  at  ninepins,  or  in  dancing  in  heavy  boots. 
They  require  rude  pleasures  and  a  rude  faith. 

* 

(On  Sunday,  while  the  bells  are  ringing.) — Art  does  not  enter 
hito  the  life  of  the  masses.  For  them,  plastic  or  dramatic  art,  or 
the  higher  order  of  music  or  literature,  do  not  exist. 

The  only  idea  they  have  of  another  life,  over  and  above  the  trivial 
present,  is  embodied  by  the  church,  and  yet  that  which  is  best  in 
all  religions  is  the  poetry  they  contain. 

* 

What  must  become  of  one  who,  for  years,  does  not  read  a  seri- 
ous book,  or  does  not  read  at  all,  and  thus  takes  in  no  great  or  well 
worked  out  ideas  ?  If  he  be  rich  and  noble,  his  life  becomes  vain 
play ;  if  he  be  poor  and  lowly,  it  becomes  vain  labor.  And,  for 
this  reason,  nature  has  given  us  song  and  history,  has  established 
religion  which  offers  its  jewels  to  all,  so  that  every  one  may  drink 
of  the  fermented  wine  of  all  knowledge  and  all  art.  But  new  wine 
must  always  be  added,  or — 

* 

(July  30th.) — The  whole  world  was^  veiled  in  mist,  and  the  sun 
was  hidden  from  view.  It  seemed  as  if  the  artistic  creative  eye 
were  brooding  over  the  form  it  was  about  to  usher  into  life.  And 
then  the  cloud -flakes  wrere  rent  asunder.  For  a  moment,  the 
mountain  world  was  free.  The  mists  disappear;  but  new  ones 
arise  from  the  earth. 

* 

Out  in  the  world,  the  fear  of  being  ridiculed  prevents  people  from 
expressing  enthusiastic  admiration  of  moonlight.  When  the  whole 
world  is  illumined  by  its  soft  glow,  and  no  sound  is  heard  save  the 
murmur  of  the  sparkling  brook,  I  am  filled  with  ecstatic  delight. 

* 

Temptation  returns,  and  says:  "You  offend  against  nature  by 
wasting  your  rich  gifts  on  tasks  that  others  could  accomplish  as 
well  as  you.  Go  out  into  the  world,  and  consider  your  present  life 
merely  as  a  state  of  transition." 

No  !  I  shall  remain  ! 

When  I  stand  on  the  mountain  and  gaze  out  into  the  world,  I 
often  ask  myself:  "Art  thou  still  the  same  Irma?  What  vestige 
is  left  of  thy  past  glittering  life  ?  " 

Xcth'lig  but  the  heavy  burden  that  oppresses  my  soul. 

Weather-talk  is  considered  a  bore,  and  yet  there  is  no  subject 
more  important.  Plants  and  animals  feel  the  changes,  for  they  de- 
termine their  fate  from  day  to  day.  And  are  there  not  men  whose 
whole  life  is  bound  up  in  the  question :  Will  the  day  bf.  clear  or 
cloudy  ? 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  505 

The  cloud  that,  like  a  girdle,  encircles  yonder  peak,  has  rested 
there,  motionless,  the  whole  day ;  and  thus,  too,  there  are  days 
when  a  mist  seems  to  be  resting  upon  one's  soul,  enveloping  our 
inner  being  in  darkness. 

Play  of  the  features  is  distinctively  a  human  attribute.  The 
human  face  reveals  changing  emotions  ;  that  of  the  beast  does  not. 

The  beast,  moreover,  has  always  but  one  and  the  same  tone. 
The  bark  of  a  dog  is  ever  the  same,  be  it  in  joy  or  anger  ;  the  only 
change  is  in  the  tempor.  Or  is  it  only  to  our  ears  that  these  tones 
seem  alike  ? 

* 

If  a  human  being  were  to  utter  such  inharmonious  and  discon- 
nected tones  as  those  produced  by  the  mavis  overhead,  it  would 
drive  me  to  distraction.  But  why  do  these  tones  not  affect  me  in 
the  same  way  ?  Why  do  they  almost  please  me  ?  Because  they 
are  natural  to  the  bird.  But  man,  having  the  power  to  choose, 
must  see  to  it  that  his  tones  are  melodious. 

* 

What  is  all  our  knowledge  ?     We  do  not  even  know  what  to 
morrow's  weather  will  be.     There  is  no  infallible  indicator  of  the 
changes  in  this  most  essential  condition  of  life.    Nor  do  the  farmers, 
although  they  are  so  fond  of  talking  on  the  subject,  know  anything 
about  it. 

* 

Harvest  time  is  the  dramatic  turning  point  of  the  year.  At  that 
time,  all  is  haste  and  suspense,  and  men  and  women  are  alike  un- 
congenial. 

* 

One  need  but  listen  to  the  pensioner,  to  learn  how  thoroughly 
corrupt  the  world  is.  His  expletives  have  all  the  force  of  cudgels. 
He  is  constantly  trying  to  sound  me  in  regard  to  Hansei  and  Wal- 
purga,  and  would  like  me  to  tell  him  of  their  faults.  It  worries  him 
to  hear  them  well  spoken  of. 

* 

A  remark  of  Gunther's  occurred  to  me  to-day . 

"  We  are  all  passionate  ;  the  difference  between  individuals  be- 
ing only  a  difference  in  rhythm.  He  who  goes  down  stairs  at  one 
bound,  may  break  his  neck  ;  he  whose  descent  is  gradual  and  care- 
ful, will  remain  uninjured." 

* 

I  never  look  at  the  clock.  With  me,  life  is  no  longer  divided 
into  hours.  I  hear  the  bell  in  the  valley  at  morning,  noon  and 
evening,  and  regulate  my  actions  accordingly.  The  clock  is  in  the 
church  tower.  The  church  tells  us  the  time  of  day. 

Old  Jochem  is  ill.    The  physician  who  attends  him  is  quite  a  jovial 

22 


$o6  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

character,  and  maintains  that  Jochem  would  live  many  years  long-ei 
if  he  had  only  been  able  to  feed  his  anger  and  keep'  his  lawsuits, 
for  these  furnished  him  with  excitement  and  amusement,  at  the 
same  time.  As  long  as  he  had  these,  there  was  still  something 
left  to  fight  for  in  the  world  and  some  one  to  abuse,  and  it  was  thi? 
that  had  kept  him  up.  Now  that  his  life  was  a  peaceful  one,  he 
would,  in  all  likelihood,  die  of  ennui. 

"You  smile,"  said  the  physician  to  me.  "Believe  me,  I  am 
quite  serious.  An  infant  in  the  cradle  that  does  not  cry,  and  a 
chai  led  dog  that  does  not  bark,  have  neither  life  nor  energy  and 
will  purely  die." 

He  may  be  right,  to  a  certain  extent. 

I  feel  under  restraint  when  with  the  physician  ;  for  he  regards 
me  with  such  a  strange,  scrutinizing  air. 

"  Oh,  Thou  good  God  !  The  grass  is  coming  up  !  But  they  '11 
bury  me  in  the  earth  and  I  '11  never  come  up  again!"  was  Jo- 
chem's  lament. 

* 

The  old  man  is  dead.  This  very  night  he  passed  away  in  his 
sleep.  No  one  was  with  him  at  the  time. 

He  died  like  a  forest  tree  which  has  lost  its  power  of  absorbing 
nourishment. 

Little  Burgei  now  sleeps  with  me.  My  friends  will  listen  to 
nothing  else,  and  will  not  suffer  me  to  be  alone  at  night. 

I  am  filled  with  dread.  A  corpse  lies  on  the  floor  above.  Beside 
it,  is  a  solitary  lamp  that  is  left  to  burn  until  the  dead  man  is  buried. 
And  yet  I  feel  that  I  must  conquer  this  feeling  of  dread  !  Yes,  I  shall. 

It  still  moves  me  deeply  to  think  of  how  the  old  man  remembered 
me.  He  sent  for  me  yesterday ;  and,  when  I  went  up  to  his  bed- 
side, he  said  :  "  Irmgard,  you  were  a  stranger  and  yet  were  kind 
to  me — I  'd  like  to  leave  you  something.  I  Ye  been  thinking  the 
matter  over  and  find  that  I  still  have  something  to  give  you.  It  's 
the  best  of  all  that  I  own.  It  would  do  me  no  good  to  have  it  buried 
with  me,  and  it  will  be  of  great  benefit  to  you,  for  there  's  a  charm 
in  it.  Here  it  is — take  it — it 's  the  bullet  that  struck  me  on  the  third 
rib.  Take  good  care  of  it.  He  who  bears  with  him  a  bullet  that  has 
once  hit  a  man,  is  in  no  danger  of  sudden,  unexpected  death.  You 
can  rely  on  that !  And  now  I  've  something  to  ask  you  :  Tell  me, 
what  was  your  father's  name  ?  You  've  told  me  that  he  's  dead. 
When  I  get  to  heaven,  I  '11  hunt  him  up  and  tell  him  that  you  're 
quite  a  good  girl ;  a  little  bit  queer  perhaps,  but  right  good  for  all. 
I  '11  tell  your  father  that,  and  it  '11  be  good  news  for  him.  " 

I  could  not  tell  him  the  name — How  could  I  ?  All  I  could  do 
was  to  thank  him  for  giving  me  wrhat  had  been  so  precious  in  his 
own  eyes.  And,  strange  to  say,  when  I  take  the  bullet  in  my  hand 
and  look  at  it,  it  agitates  me  greatly. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  507 

I  will  now  prepare  myself  to  follow  the  old  man  to  his  grave. 

I  was  at  the  churchyard  while  the  old  man  was  buried.     I  shaJl 

lie  there,  too,  some  day. 

* 

I  feel  as  if  death  might  be  conquered  by  the  will.  I  am  deter- 
mined to  live  ;  I  will  not  die.  Is  force  of  will  the  hidden  thing 
within  me,  that  I  am  ever  seeking?  And  yet,  I  have  no  will.  No 
one  has.  All  our  life,  all  our  thoughts,  are  simply  the  necessary 
result  of  events  and  experiences,  of  waking  perception  and  noc- 
turnal dreams.  Like  the  beasts,  we  may  change  the  scene  ;  but, 
the  greater  one,  the  prison  that  confines  us,  we  cannot  change. 
We  cannot  quit  the  earth.  The  laws  of  gravitation  and  attraction 
hold  our  souls  fast  as  well  as  our  bodies.  Far  above  me,  move  the 
stars,  and  I  am  nothing  more  than  a  flower  or  a  blade  of  grass 
clinging  to  the  earth.  The  stars  look  down  at  me,  and  I  look  up 
to  them,  and  yet  we  cannot  join  each  other. 

A  reigning  prince  has  visited  our  farm.  His  highness  Gruber- 
sepp, of  whom  Walpurga  has  often  spoken  to  me,  has  arrived, 
bringing  his  little  son,  or- — to  speak  more  correctly — his  two  black 
horses  and  his  son  with  him.  The  house  is  all  bustle,  and  every 
one  seems  as  proud  and  happy  as  if  a  reigning  prince  had  act- 
ually come. 

Grubersepp  looked  at  me  with  a  curious  air. 

"Is  that  prim-looking  girl,"  said  he  to  Hansei,  while  pointing 
backwards  with  his  thumb,  "one  of  your  wife's  relations  ?  " 

"Yes;  my  wife — "  Hansei  muttered  something — I  saw  that  it 
went  hard  with  him  to  tell  a  lie,  and,  above  all,  to  the  great  farmer 
to  whom  he  was  showing  his  property. 

Among  the  peasants,  it  is  just  the  same  as  elsewhere.  Only  the 
great  ones  know  each  other.  But  their  intercourse  is  beautiful  and 
impressive,  and,  although  they  exchange  no  friendly  words,  they 
serve  each  other  by  friendly  actions. 

The  family  have  been  made  happy,  for  Grubersepp  has  said  that 
the  farm  was  in  good  order ;  and  when  Grubersepp  says  that,  it  is 
as  much  as  if  the  intendant  should  say  :  "  divine." 

During  the  two  days  Grubersepp  spent  here,  there  was  no  rest 
in  the  house ;  that  is,  every  one  was  busy  thinking  of  him.  Now 
everything  is  running  in  its  accustomed  groove,  and  every  face  is 
radiant  with  joy.  No  matter  how  well  satisfied  one  may  be  with 
himself,  it  is  something  quite  different  to  receive  words  of  approval 
from  the  lips  of  another,  and  especially  so,  when  the  words  of 
tommendation  come  from  a  man  so  exalted  as  Grubersepp. 

I  am  still  trembling  with  fright.  I  was  in  the  woods  to-day.  I 
was  sitting  on  my  bench,  and  saw  some  one  walking  among  the 


5o8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

treos.     Now  and  then  he  would  stop  to  gather  a  flower  or  pick  up 
a  stone.     He  came  near  and — who  was  it  ? 

It  was  Gunther,  the  friend  for  whose  presence  I  had  so  often 
longed.  He  asked  me,  in  his  deep,  clear  voice  :  "  Child,  does  this 
road  lead  down  to  the  village?  " 

I  felt  as  if  choking,  and  could  not  utter  a  word.  I  pointed  to 
the  footpath  and,  in  fear  and  trembling,  arose  from  my  seat.  He 
asked  me  :  "  Are  you  dumb,  poor  child  ?  " — This  saved  me.  I  am 
dumb  ;  I  cannot  speak.  Without  uttering  a  word,  I  fled  from  him 
and,  when  I  found  myself  alone,  I  wept  longer  than  I  have  foi 
many  years.  I  wanted  to  hurry  after  him,  but  he  had  gone.  I 
could  not  support  myself.  My  limbs  gave  way  under  me.  At 
last  I  am  calm — all  is  over — all  must  be  over. 

* 

I  have  had  long  and  troubled  days.  My  work  did  not  go  as 
smoothly  as  it  should  have  done,  and  much  went  amiss  with  me. 
The  world  without  has  aroused  me. 

* 

I  thank  fate  that  I  have  learned  to  use  my  eyes.  Wherever  I 
look,  I  see  something  that  delights  me  and  gives  me  food  for 
thought.  The  noblest  joys  and  the  most  widely  diffused,  are  those 
the  eye  affords  us. 

* 

I  am  delighted  to  find  that  the  little  pitchman  knows  every  bird 
by  its  song.  The  proverb  says :  "  A  bird  is  known  by  its  feathers." 
That  is  a  matter  of  course,  for  few  know  them  by  their  song.  Their 
plumage  is  permanent ;  their  song  is  fleeting  and  fitful.  The 
former  is  fixed  ;  the  latter  is  not. 

* 

I  now  listen,  with  perfect  unconcern,  to  the  groaning  of  the 
forest  trees,  which  so  alarmed  me  during  that  night  of  terrors. 
And  how  strange  !  as  soon  as  a  bird  begins  to  sing,  the  groaning 
ceases.  What  causes  this  ? 

=F 

I  have  received  fresh  orders,  and  am  all  right  again.  But  my 
little  pitchman  keeps  ailing.  At  first,  it  almost  vexed  me,  but  I 
conquered  the  selfish  habits  that  tyrannized  over  me.  I  have  served 
him  faithfully,  in  requital  for  the  services  he  has  done  me.  I 
nursed  him  carefully,  and  now  he  is  quite  well  again. 

I  am  not  so  selfish,  after  all ;  for  I  have  gained  the  friendship  of 
good  human  beings.  But  I  cannot  do  good  to  those  who  do  not 
concern  me.  I  belong  to  myself  and  to  an  infinitely  small  circle  ; 
beyond  that  I  cannot  go. 

When  I  sit  here  in  silence  and  solitude,  and  look  at  the  one  room 
in  which  I  live  and  hope  to  die,  I  sometimes  give  way  to  horrible 
fits  of  depression.  Here  is  my  chair,  my  table,  my  workbench,  m5 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  509 

bed.     These  are  mine  until  I  am  laid  in  the  grave  ;  but  there  is  not 
one  human  soul  that  belongs  to  me. 

I  feel  so  oppressed,  at  such  moments,  that  I  would  like  to  cry  out 
aloud,  and  it  is  with  difficulty  that  I  regain  my  composure.  Work, 
however,  aids  me. 

* 

For  one  brief  hour,  I  have  imagined  myself  possessed  of  omnis- 
cience. 

It  was  yesterday  morning,  during  the  hour  from  eleven  until 
twelve.  A  light  sun-shower  passed  over  us,  and  then  all  grew 
bright  again,  and,  in  my  mind's  eye,  I  saw  how  thousands  of  beings 
were  spending  that  hour.  I  saw  the  laborer  in  the  forest,  the  king 
in  his  cabinet,  the  sewing-woman  in  her  garret,  the  miner  in  the 
shaft,  the  bird  on  the  tree,  the  lizard  on  the  rock.  I  saw  the  child 
sitting  in  school,  and  the  dying  old  man  drawing  his  last  breath. 
I  saw  the  ship,  the  coquette  rouging  herself,  and  the  poor  work- 
ing-women weeding  in  the  fields.  I  saw  all  — everything.  I 
passed  one  hour  of  infinity. 

And  now  I  am  fettered  again — a  small,  isolated,  miserable, 
stammering  child.  The  one  great  thought  of  eternity  passes  like  a 
fugitive  through  my  mind,  and  finds  no  resting-place  there.  I  must 
again  hold  fast  to  trifles. 

I  shall  return  to  my  workbench. 

I  have  read,  somewhere,  that  the  Arabians  wash  their  hands  be- 
fore prayer;  when  in  the  desert,  where  they  can  find  no  water, 
they  wash  them  in  sand  and  dust.  The  dust  of  labor  purifies  us. 

* 

The  masses  should  have  no  books,  but  should  talk  with,  and 
listen  to,  each  other. 

Books  serve  to  isolate  man ;  that  which  is  told  us  by  word  of 
mouth  is  far  more  potent. 

The  teachings — or,  rather,  the  experiences — of  a  ruined  world- 
ling have  two  things  in  their  favor.  She  who  has  gone  astray  has 
become  observant  of  everything,  and  is,  therefore,  the  best  guide. 
And,  besides  that,  it  seems  to  me  that  those  who  receive  a  precept 
from  the  lips  of  one  who  is  perfectly  pure  have  no  choice  left  them  ; 
for  purity  is  the  highest  authority,  and  its  teachings  must  be  ac- 
cepted. But  when  a  ruined  being  speaks  to  us,  every  word  must 
be  tested.  It  will  not  do  to  reject  it  at  once  ;  and  this  is  well,  for 
it  makes  one  free. 

* 

The  swallows  are  departing.  They  gather  in  flocks  which,  like 
thick  clouds,  darken  the  air  and,  with  lightning  speed,  they  move 
in  their  zig-zag  course.  How  they  can  keep  together  in  such  irreg- 
ular movements  passes  our  comprehension.  When,  or  by  what 
means,  do  they  signify  to  each  other  when  a  sharp  turn  is  to  be 
taken? 


5io  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  thought  of  flying  suggests  a  sphere  of  life  of  which  \ve  can 
form  no  conception.  And  yet  we  imagine  that  we  understand  the 
world.  What  is  fixed,  we  may  comprehend  ;  at  least,  the  portion 
that  is  fixed. — Beyond  that,  all  is  conjecture. 

* 

I  overheard  Franz,  Gundel's  lover,  saying  to  her:  "A  woman 
who  looked  just  like  Irmgard  was  once  with  the  queen  at  the  mili- 
tary manoeuvres  ;  and  she  wore  the  uniform  of  our  regiment,  and 
lode  up  and  down  the  line." 

If  the  soldier  were  to  recognize  and  betray  me  ? 

How  the  confused  feelings  that  fill  the  human  heart  seem  to 
play  at  hide  and  seek  with  each  other.  With  all  my  misery,  it  is 
not  without  a  certain  feeling  of  triumph  that  I  learn  that  my  image 
has  impressed  itself  on  a  thousand  memories. 

I  have  not  yet  accustomed  myself  to  go  out  alone,  and  it  often 
seems  to  me  as  if  a  sen-ant  must  be  walking  after  me.  Ah  !  what 
an  artificial  life  we  all  lead. 

I  have  spent  a  whole  clay  alone  in  the  woods.  Oh,  how  happy  I 
was  !  I  lay  on  the  ground  listening  to  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 
overhead,  and  the  prattling  of  the  brook  below.  If  I  could  but  end 
my  days  here  like  a  wounded  doe — for  I  am  one,  and  drops  of 
blood  mark  my  track. — No,  I  am  well  again.  I  was  once  in  the 
world  ;  that  is,  in  another  world ;  and  now  I  lead  a  new  life. 

* 

The  little  pitchman  knew  my  father.  During  one  summer,  he 
worked  in  our  forest,  gathering  pitch,  and  my  father,  who  under- 
stood even-thing,  went  up  to  him  and  taught  him  how  to  boil  the 
pitch  in  order  to  obtain  a  better  and  purer  article  than  he  would 
otherwise  have  got. 

"  Oh,  what  a  man  he  was  !  I  only  wish  you  'd  known  him,"  said 
the  little  pitchman  to  me.  "  He  was  so  good.  Many  a  one  has 
told  me,  since  then,  how  he  used  to  help  everybody.  He  knew  all 
about  everything.  He  taught  me  that  you  can  get  the  best  tur- 
pentine from  the  larches.  He  never  liked  to  give  anything  to  peo- 
ple, but  he  was  n't  stingy.  He  helped  all  who  'd  work,  and  showed 
them  how  things  might  be  done  with  less  trouble  and  with  greatei 
profit,  and  that  was  better  than  giving  them  money.  Even-  year 
he  would  lend  them  some  money,  so  that  they  could  buy  a  pig,  and 
when  they  'd  sold  it,  they  had  to  pay  him  back.  They  often 
laughed  at  him  and  gave  him  a  nickname,  too,  but  it  was  an  honor 
to  him.  Yes — and  would  you  believe  it? — he  had  a  great  misfor- 
tune. His  children  deserted  him." 

How  these  words  rent  my  heart  ! 

During  the  whole  evening,  the  terrible  mark  on  my  forehead 
Durned  like  fire. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  511 

This  is  the  anniversary  of  my  return  to  the  summer  palace. 

At  that  time,  I  dreamt  that  a  star  had  fallen  down  on  me,  and 
that  a  man,  with  averted  gaze,  was  saying :  "  Thou,  too,  art  alone  !  " 

There  are  depths  of  the  soul,  which  no  safety-lamp  ever  enters, 
and  where  all  light  is  extinguished.  I  turn  away — for  naught  dwells 
there  but  the  angry  storm-wind. 

* 

My  thoughts  go  back  to  my  childhood.  I  was  three  years  old 
when  my  mother  died.  I  have  nothing  to  remind  me  of  it,  except 
that  the  moving  about  and  pushing  in  the  next  room  greatly  fright- 
ened me.  Oh  mother  !  why  did  you  die  so  soon  ?  How  different 
I  would  have  been — 

I  ?  Who  is  this  I  ?  If  it  could  have  been  different,  it  were  not  I. 
It  was  to  be  thus. 

They  put  black  clothes  on  me  and  my  brother,  and  I  only  re- 
member that  father  went  with  us.  He  said  that  it  would  be  better 
if  we  did  not  remain  with  him,  and  that  it  was  not  well  for  us  to 
grow  up  in  solitude.  He  kissed  us  at  parting.  He  kissed  me  and 
my  brother;  then  he  kissed  me  once  more.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
wished  to  retain  my  kiss  for  the  last. 

What  are  the  memories  of  my  childhood  ?  A  silent  convent,  my 
aunt  the  lady  abbess,  and  my  friend  Emma.  I  remember  this 
much,  however :  when  strangers  came,  they  would  turn  to  me 
and  say:  "Oh,  what  a  pretty  child!  what  large  brown  eyes!" 
Emma  told  me  that  I  was  not  pretty,  and  that  the  visitors  were 
only  laughing  at  and  mocking  me ;  but  my  mirror  told  me  that  I 
was  pretty.  I  frankly  said  so  to  Emma  and  she  confessed  that  I 
was.  My  father  came — he  had  been  in  America — and  he  looked 
at  me  for  a  long  while.  "Father,  I  am  pretty;  am  I  not?  "  said 
I  to  him. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  you  are,  and  much  is  required  of  one  who  is 
beautiful.  Beauty  is  a  heavy  charge.  Always  bear  yourself  so 
that  others  may  justly  feel  proud  of  you." 

I  did  not  know  what  he  meant  at  the  time,  but  now  I  under- 
stand it  all. 

1  do  not  remember  how  the  years  passed  by.  I  went  back  to 
father.  Bruno,  who  was  intended  for  an  agriculturist,  entered  the 
army  against  father's  wishes.  Father,  absorbed  by  his  work  and 
his  studies,  lived  entirely  for  himself,  and  left  us  to  do  as  we 
pleased.  He  was  proud  of  this  and  often  said  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  exercise  his  authority  over  us,  and  that  he  meant  to  allow 
us  to  develop  our  characters  freely  and  without  restraint.  I  re- 
turned to  the  convent,  and  remained  there  until  my  aunt  died. 

And  there — forgive  me,  great  and  pure  spirit ! — there  lay  your 
^reat  error.  You  cast  aside  your  paternal  majesty  and  meant  to 
live  in  love  alone.  And  we  ?  Bruno  would  not,  and  I  could  not. 
And  thus,  while  you  were  lonely,  we  were  miserable. 


^12  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Bruno  went  to  court.  He  was  handsome,  gay,  and  full  of  life. 
He  presented  me  at  court,  also.  Father  had  allowed  me  to  follow 
my  own  choice,  and  there  my  troubles  began.  I  knew  that  I  was 
b-jautiful.  and  I  had  the  courage  to  think  differently  from  others. 
I  had  become  the  free  nature  which  my  father  had  meant  me  to  be  ; 
but  to  what  purpose  ? 

When  I  look  over  what  I  have  written,  I  cannot  help  thinking  of 
how  much  one  has  lived  and  labored  during  a  year,  and  how  small 
the  yield  is,  after  all.  But  then  flowers,  too,  require  a  long  time 
before  they  blossom,  and  fruit  ripens  but  slowly ;  many  sunny  days 
and  dewy  nights  have  helped  to  perfect  them. 

* 

A  rainbow  !  Rest  and  peace  are  intangible.  They  exist  no- 
where except  in  our  own  imagination  and  in  the  view  we  take  of 
things  around  us.  Now  I  understand  why  the  rainbow  that  fol- 
lowed the  deluge  was  described  as  a  token  of  peace.  The  seven 
colors  have  no  real  existence.  They  only  appear  to  the  eye  that  re- 
ceives the  broken  rays  at  the  proper  angle  of  refraction.  Rest  and 
peace  cannot  be  conquered  by  force  ;  they  are  free  gifts  of  the  heaven 
within  us — smiles  and  tears  meeting  like  the  rain  cloud  and  the 
sunshine. 

* 

I  am  often  oppressed  with  a  fear  that  I  shall  lose  what  culture  I 
possess,  because  of  my  having  no  one  with  whom  I  can  speak  in 
my  own  language,  and — I  hardly  know  how  to  express  myself — in 
whom  I  can  find  my  own  nature  reflected.  And  yet,  that  which 
makes  man  human  is  possessed  by  those  about  me,  as  much  as 
by  the  most  cultured.  This  being  the  case,  whence  this  fear  ? 
and  of  what  benefit  is  culture  ?  Do  I  still  mean  to  use  it  in  the 
world  ?  I  do  not  understand  myself. 

Our  fashionable  culture  cannot  supplant  religion,  because,  while 
religion  makes  all  men  equal,  education  produces  inequality.  But 
there  must  be  a  system  of  culture  that  will  equalize  all  men,  and 
that  is  the  only  right  and  true  system.  We  are,  as  yet,  at  the 
threshold. 

* 

I  have  a  great  work  before  me,  and  am  determined  to  succeed. 

Hansei  put  little  Peter  on  the  white  horse  and  let  him  ride  a  few 
steps.  How  happy  the  little  fellow  was  !  and  how  Wodan  looked 
around  at  father  and  son  !  I  retained  the  scene  in  my  memory, 
ind  am  now  working  at  the  group — Hansei,  Peter,  and  the  white 
foal,  all  together.  If  I  only  succeed  !  I  can  scarcely  sleep  for 
thinking  of  it. 

* 

The  group  has  proved  a  success,  although  not  so  great  a  one  as 
I  had  wished  for.  The  human  figures  are  stiff  and  without  expres- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  513 

sion  ;  but  the  horse  is  full  of  life,  and  every  one  in  the  house  is  de- 
lighted with  my  achievement. 

Hansei  wishes  me  to  accompany  him  when  he  goes  out  hunting; 
so  that  I  may  copy  stags,  deer  and  chamois.  Those,  he  thinks,  are 
'he  best  subjects  after  all. 

I  have  tried  to  copy  the  animals  in  the  forest,  but  did  not  succeed 
as  I  did  with  the  horse.  I  can  only  hold  fast  to  that  which  has  no 
fear  of  me  and  which  I,  therefore,  love.  I  shall  stick  to  my  horses 

and  cows. 

* 

All  the  mountain  summits  that  I  see,  have  such  strange  and  yet 
appropriate  names.  Who  bestowed  them  upon  them  ?  And  who 
accepted  them  ?  What  names  could  we  invent  nowadays  ?  The 
earth  and  language  have  both  become  rigid  and  unyielding.  I 
think  I  once  heard  the  same  thought  expressed  one  evening,  while 
we  were  at  tea  with  the  queen. 

The  carnival  is  a  great  festival — the  very  realization  of  jollity. 
Peasants  from  the  village  come  to  visit  us.  They  often  come  on 
Sundays,  but  I  have  never  heard  them  speak  of  anything  but  cattle, 
the  crops,  or  the  price  of  grain.  I  sometimes  remain  in  the  room 
to  listen  to  them,  for  I  love  to  hear  the  sound  of  human  voices. 

The  stories  they  tell  each  other  seem  simple,  but,  after  all,  none 
better  are  told  in  the  salon. 

* 

Why  did  I  not  live  out  my  life  in  purity  ?  I  was  intended  for  a 
noble  and  beautiful  existence. 

* 

My  white  foal  is  running  about,  while  I  sit  here  modeling  it. 
The  power  of  giving  permanent  shape  to  impressions  received  by 
the  eye  is  the  prerogative  of  man  alone.  We  have  words  for  every- 
thing about  us  and  can  imitate  all  objects,  and,  over  and  above 
that,  we  have  music  and  pure  thought.  What  rich  stores  of 
knowledge  and.  delight  are  at  man's  disposal. 

We  have  passed  three  sad,  sorrowful  days.  The  grandmother 
was  ill.  The  whole  household  was  in  alarm.  Hansei  feared  the 
worst  and  did  not  venture  to  leave  the  farm.  It  was  a  comfort  to 
me  to  find  that  my  nursing  did  the  grandmother  so  much  good. 

Hansei,  proud  as  he  is  of  being  a  great  farmer,  was  so  anxious 
to  do  something  for  the  mother,  that  he  chopped  the  wood  with 
which  to  make  a  fire  in  her  room,  and  carried  it  in,  himself. 

* 

He  always  told  the  doctor  to  spare  no  expense.     Nothing  was 
too  dear,  or  too  good  for  the  grandmother. 
22* 


5 H  ON  THE  HEIGHTS.* 

The  doctor  explained  the  grandmother's  illness  to  me,  just  as  if 
I  were  a  physician. 

She  often"  sent  Uncle  Peter  out  into  the  woods  to  me.  It  was 
still  raw  out  there,  and  we  soon  returned. 

The  grandmother  is  \vell  again  and  is  sitting  in  the  spring  sun- 
shine. 

"  Yes,  one  must  have  been  out  of  the  world,  to  be  grateful  for 
coming  back  again,"  said  she.  "One  who  doesn't  get  away 
does  n't  know  what  it  is  to  come  back."  She  had  much  to  tell  me 
about  the  deaths  of  her  five  children.  "  This  one  would  have  been 
so  old,  and  this  one  so  old,"  she  kept  on  saying.  In  imagination, 
they  had  grown  up  with  her.  Then  she  tolcl  me  of  her  husband's 
death  :  how  he  had  been  dragged  into  the  lake  by  the  driftwood, 
and  drowned ;  and  how  Hansei  had  remained  with  them  after- 
ward. "  He  was  a  strange  man,"  she  always  said  of  her  husband, 
"but  good-hearted." 

During  his  sister's  illness,  the  little  pitchman  was  in  great  despair. 

"  She  was  the  pride  of  our  family,"  he  kept  on  saying,  as  if  she 
were  already  dead.  But  now  he  is  the  happiest  of  us  all,  and  when 
the  grandmother  sat  on  my  bench  under  the  maple  tree,  for  "the 
first  time,  he  said :  "  I  '11  get  a  golden  seat  in  heaven  for  making 
that  bench.  The  king  has  n't  got  a  finer  place  than  that,  and  he 
can't  get  any  one  to  paint  bluer  skies  or  greener  woods  for  him 
than  we  can  see  from  here." 

* 

I  am  quite  distressed  by  what  the  little  pitchman  tells  me.  He 
brings  me  word  that  the  man  who  purchases  my  work  intends  to 
pay  me  a  visit.  He  has  just  received  an  order  to  furnish  carved 
wainscotings  for  the  palace  at  the  king's  new  hunting-seat,  and 
wishes  to  see  me  about  them. 

How  shall  I  avoid  meeting  him  ? 

The  good  mother  has  helped  me  out  of  my  trouble.  She  re- 
ceived him  when  he  came,  and  told  him  that  I  would  see  no  one. 
She  would  not  consent  to  tell  a  falsehood,  a  point  on  which  Wal- 
purga  would  have  had  less  scruples. 

I  now  have  the  working  designs,  and  beautiful  woods  with  which 
to  carry  them  out,  for  I  have  undertaken  to  execute  a  portion  of 
the  order. 

* 

It  matters  little  what  manner  of  life  one  leads,  so  long  as  there 
is  self-awakening  and  self-consciousness.  All  arts,  all  science, 
merely  exist  in  order  that  our  own  consciousness  may  be  acted 
upon  and  aroused  by  that  of  others.  He  who  can  do  this  unaided 
is  fortunate.  He  who  awakes  of  himself  when  it  is  time  to  go  to 
work  in  the  morning,  has  no  need  of  a  watchman  to  call  him. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  515 

Hansel  has  become  a  juryman.  Walpurga  is  quite  proud  of  it, 
and  when  he  took  leave  of  us,  it  was  with  a  certain  air  of  pride  and 
importance. 

The  idea  of  appealing  to  the  conscience  of  the  people  for  the 
verdict  of  justice,  is  a  beautiful  one. 

Hansei  has  returned  and  had  many  terrible  stories  to  tell. 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  our  lives  and  destinies  were  nothing  more 
than  shadows  playing  on  the  wall. 

Hansei  was  deeply  affected  when  he  said  to  us : 

"  Yes,  all  my  sins  came  back  to  me,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  doing 
penance  when  I  pronounced  judgment  on  others.  It  's  nothing 
but  good  luck  that  prevents  us  from  falling  into  sinful  ways  and 
keeps  us  off  of  the  anxious  bench." 

* 

(Sunday,  May  28th.) — The  grandmother  is  dead. 

I  cannot  write  of  it.     My  hand  seems  as  if  paralyzed. 

She  kissed  my  eyes  and  said  :  "  I  kiss  your  eyes  and  hope  they 
may  never  weep  again." 

Two  hours  before  her  death,  she  said  to  Hansei : 

"  Make  a  sled  for  Burgei.  She  is  so  anxious  to  have  one.  It  '11 
please  me  if  you  do.  You  need  n't  fear,  she  won't  harm  herself. 
I  beg  of  you,  do  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  grandmother ! "  replied  Hansei,  with  thick  voice, 
and  deeply  affected  by  the  thought  that,  even  then,  the  grand- 
mother's only  care  was  for  Burgei's  pleasure. 

* 

The  fear  of  death  lies  heavily  upon  me,  and  yet  I  feel  an  in- 
ward sense  of  freedom.  I  have  beheld  a  beautiful  end.  My  hand 
closed  her  eyes  in  death.  I  had  not  believed  that  I  could  do  it. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  could  not,  when  1  lay  on  the  floor  feeling 
as  if  I  were  buried  far  under  the  earth,  and  beside  me  lay  my 
father,  cold  in  death. 

The  grandmother's  death  has  relieved  me  of  all  fear.  I  am 
able  to  assist  Walpurga.  Her  lamentations  are  excessive.  "  Now 
I  'm  an  orphan  like  you  !  "  she  cried,  throwing  herself  on  my 
bosom.  Then  she  cried  to  the  dead  one  :  "  Oh  mother  !  how  can 
you  be  so  cruel  as  to  leave  me  ?  Oh  God  !  and  there  's  the  bird 
still  hopping  about  in  its  cage.  Yes,  you  can  jump  about !  but 
mother  never  will  again  !  " 

She  took  a  cloth  and  covered  the  crossbill's  cage  with  it,  saying 
"  I  'd  like  to  let  you  fly,  you  dear  little  creature,  but  I  can't. 
Mother  loved  you  so  much  that  I  can't  let  you  go."  And  then, 
addressing  the  corpse,  she  said  :  "Oh  mother!  can  there  ever  be 
sunshine  when  you  're  not  here  ?  Yes,  the  clock  ticks  and  keeps 
on  going,  and  can  be  wound  up.  But,  oh  !  the  hours  that  will 
come  and  go  without  you  !  God  forgive  me  for  the  many  hours  I 
was  away  from  you  !  " 


516  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  door  of  the  clothes-press  suddenly  flew  open  and  startled 
Walpurga.  Regaining  her  self-command,  she  said  :  "  Yes,  yes  ; 
I  '11  wear  your  clothes.  I  '11  wear  them  for  the  sake  of  good.  No 
evil  thought  shall  enter  my  heart,  no  evil  word  pass  my  lips.  Help 
me,  so  that  I  may  always  be  yours !  Oh  God  !  there  's  no  one 
left  to  say  '  child  '  to  me  !  I  remember  how  you  said  :  '  So  long  as 
yo  \  can  say,  father,  and  mother,  there  is  yet  a  love  that  bears  you  in 
its  arms,  'it 's  only  when  the  parents  are  gone,  that  one  is  set  down 
on  the  cold  ground.'  I  '11  hold  fast  "o  all  you  've  told  me  to  do, 
and  so  shall  my  children.  And,  Irmgard,  you  remember  many  of 
her  wise  sayings,  don  't  you  ?  " 

Such  was  the  burden  of  Walpurga's  lament,  and  I  could  only 
reply : 

"  Yes,  and  hold  fast  to  one  thing  she  said  :  'One  may  sin  even 
in  speech.'  Do  n't  give  way  to  your  grief." 

Walpurga  took  down  her  mother's  prayer-book  and  read  the 
prayer  for  the  soul  of  the  departed. 

After  that,  she  handed  me  the  book,  and  what  I  read  there  filled 
me  with  gratitude  and  devotion.  When  our  feelings  are  most  vio- 
lently agitated,  we  cannot  give  definite  shape  to  our  ideas.  We, 
too,  sing  melodies  that  have  been  arranged  by  others.  Our  lips 
repeat  the  words  of  poets  who  have  sung  and  suffered  for  us ;  for 
the  poet's  heart,  in  truth,  contains  the  New  Jerusalem  of  civiliza- 
tion. The  great  gulf  that  separates  man  from  the  beast,  the  plant, 
or  the  stone,  is  the  possession  of  sympathy,  by  means  of  which, 
men  are  enabled  to  anticipate,  or  to  follow  each  other's  emotions. 
From  the  beginning  until  now,  humanity  has  been  chanting  an  un- 
dying melody  in  which  my  voice,  too,  forms  a  part.  An  everlast- 
ing sun,  of  whose  rays  I  am  one,  has  been  lighting  the  path  from 
generation  to  generation.  The  silent  mountains  outlast  the  races 
of  men  and  no  newT  one  is  added  to  their  number ;  but,  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  new  watch-towers  of  thought  arise  from  the 
soul  of  humanity. 

A  happy  death  is  the  greatest  good.  Wondrous  power  of  reli- 
gion !  Over  the  couch  of  the  sick,  there  are  bell-pulls,  reaching 
into  heaven,  by  which  the  patient  is  enabled  to  draw  himself  up 
and  support  himself.  He  imagines  them  there,  even  in  their  ab- 
sence, and,  supported  by  faith,  thinks  that  he  is  holding  fast  to 

them. 

* 

After  the  grandmother's  death,  a  strange  feeling  of  quiet  rested 
on  the  house.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  Walpurga  to  know  that 
.here  were  so  many  people  at  the  funeral. 

"Yes,  they  all  honored  her;  but  they  really  didn't  know  her. 
You  and  I  knew  her.  Do  you  remember,  Hansei,  when  the  pota- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  517 

toes  were  stolen  from  the  field,  and  she  said :  '  If  one  only  knew 
who  stole  them/  and  I  said  :  '  Mother,  would  you  inform  against 
them?'  'You  foolish  thing,'  she  answered,  reproachfully,  'how 
could  you  think  I  'd  mean  that  ?  What  I  mean  is :  if  we  only 
knew  who  the  people  are  that  stole  our  potatoes  during  the  night. 
They  must  know  that  we  have  but  little,  ourselves ;  and  they  must 
be  very  unfortunate  people,  whom  we  ought  to  help  as  much  as  we 
can  afford  to.'  Yes,  she  said  that ;  was  there  ever  another  creat- 
ure who  'd  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  That 's  the  way  the  saints  must 
have  been  who  thought  so  kindly  of  all.  She  had  no  fear  of  the 
sick,  nor  hatred  of  the  wicked.  Her  only  thought  was,  how  much 
they  must  have  suffered  before  they  got  so  sick,  or  so  wicked.  If 
I  could  only  grow  to  be  like  her.  Remind  me  of  it  all,  Irmgard, 
when  I  get  cross  and  scold.  You  '11  help  me,  won't  you  ?  to  be- 
come like  my  mother,  so  that,  some  day,  my  children  will  think  of 
me  as  I  do  of  her.  Ah  !  if  one  were  only  always  as  good  as  one 
can  be.  Yes,  she  was  right  when  she  used  to  say :  '  Wishing  in  the 
one  hand  and  blowing  into  the  other,  amount  to  about  the  same 
thing.'  " 

I  shall  now  return  to  my  work.  At  such  times,  there  is  hard  - 
ship  and  yet  comfort  in  labor.  Hansei  and  Walpurga  are  obliged 
to  work.  They  cannot  afford  to  give  themselves  up'  to  grief,  for 
too  much  depends  on  them.  Be  it  with  king  or  beggar,  poet  or 
peasant,  the  key  note  of  the  highest  emotions  is  always  the  same. 

Walpurga's  lament  was  pitched  in  the  same  key  as  that  of  Lear 
for  Cordelia,  and  yet  how  different.  To  a  father  who  loses  his 
child,  the  future  is  dead.  To  a  child  losing  a  parent,  the  past  is 
dead.  Ah  !  how  weak  is  language. 

* 

I  was  quite  alarmed  by  something  that  Hansei  said  to-day. 
Has  doubt  entered  even  these  simple  hearts  ?  And  they  do  their 
duty  in  this  world  without  a  firm  belief  in  a  future  state. 

In  his  funeral  sermon,  the  preacher  had  said  :  "  Behold  the  trees  ! 
A  few  weeks  ago,  they  were  dead.  But  with  the  spring,  they  re- 
turn to  life."  "  The  pastor  ought  n't  to  have  said  that,"  remarked 
Hansei;  "not  that  way,  at  any  rate.  He  might  convert  children 
by  that,  but  not  us.  What  does  he  mean  by  talking  about  trees 
!n  that  fashion  ?  The  trees  that  still  have  life  in  them  will  get  new 
eaves  in  the  spring,  but  the  dead  ones  won't ;  they  '11  be  cut  down 
and  others  will  be  planted  in  their  place." 

* 

We  all  of  us  have  a  strange  feeling  of  loneliness — a  feeling  that 
something  is  missing.  Uncle  Peter  is  the  most  inconsolable  of  all. 

"  Now  I  must  wander  about  the  world  alone  ;  I  have  n't  brother 
or  sister  left.  She  was  the  pride  of  our  family,"  he  repeats  again 
and  again. 


5i8  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Heretofore,  he  always  slept  in  the  garret,  with  the  servants ;  but 
now  Hansei  has  placed  the  old  pensioner's  room  at  his  disposal. 
He  is  quite  proud  of  it,  but  often  complains,  saying:  "  Why  did  I 
have  to  wait  so  long  for  all  this  ?  How  stupid  it  was  of  my  sister 
and  me.  We  might  have  moved  in  there.  Could  we  have  found 
a  prettier  place  ?  Oh,  how  nicely  we  would  have  lived  there,  and 
you  could  have  gone  along  with  us.  Oh,  how  stupid  old  age  is. 
We  do  n't  see  the  good  nests  till  the  trees  are  bare  and  there  's 
nothing  more  left  in  them.  '  One  gets  nothing  to  eat,  till  there  are 
no  teeth  to  bite  it  with,'  as  my  sister  used  to  say." 

He  always  uses  the  words  :  "  As  my  sister  used  to  say,"  when  he 
is  on  the  point  of  making  a  statement  which  he  does  not  wish  con- 
tradicted, and  I  imagine  he  really  thinks  his  sister  did  say  it.  He 
inherited  her  closet  and,  betore  opening  it,  he  always  knocks  at  the 
door. 

* 

My  little  pitchman  is  a  good  bee-master.  He  knows  how  to  take 
care  of  bees  and  he  calls  them  the  poor  man's  pasture  cattle. 

"Since  my  sister's  death,"  said  he  to  me  to-day,  "I've  had 
nothing  but  bad  luck  with  my  bees.  They  won't  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  me." 

* 

I  have  written  nothing  for  months.  For  whom  are  these  pages  ? 
Why  do  I  torment  my  mind  by  recording  ever}'  trifling  incident  or 
passing  emotion  ?  These  questions  unsettled  and  perplexed  me, 
but  now  I  am  calm  again.  For  months  I  have  done  nothing  but 
work. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  must  soon  die,  and  yet  I  feel  that  I  am  in 
the  fulness  of  my  strength.  I  am  often  rendered  uneasy  by  the 
thought  that  people  trifle  with  my  supposed  madness. 

* 

At  last  I  feel  that  my  rest  here  was  never  complete,  and  that  it 
might  have  been  disturbed  at  any  moment.  But  now,  let  what  will 
come,  I  shall  remain. 

* 

A  storm  !  To  us  who  note  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  every  change 
of  weather,  a  storm  is  quite  a  different  affair  from  what  it  is  to 
those  who  only  look  to  see  what  weather  it  is  when  they  are  idle, 
or  have  a  pleasure  party  in  prospect. 

One  feels  as  if  transported  back  to  the  time  of  creation,  as  if  all 
\vere  chaos  once  more ;  for  the  voice  of  the  Infinite  is  heard  in  the 
:hunder,  and  His  glory  blazes  forth  in  the  lightning. 

At  a  public  gaming-table,  while  the  thunder  was  pealing  and 
vhe  lightning  flashing,  and  the  frivolous  throng  had  withdrawn 
from  the  game,  I  once  saw  a  lady  of  noble  birth  who  insisted  upon 
going  on  with  the  game  after  all  the  others  had  been  frightened 
away.  The  croupiers  were  obliged  to  keep  at  their  work.  This 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  519 

lady  gives  elegant  entertainments,  and  a  servant  who  stole  a  silver 
spoon  from  her,  was  sent  to  gaol.  How  low,  to  steal  a  spoon —  ! 
But  what  of  her  mistress  ? 

There  is,  of  course,  one  circumstance  that  I  must  not  omit  to 
mention.  Every  morning,  before  repairing  to  the  gaming-table, 
she  attends  mass. 

* 

To  be  killed  by  lightning,  must  surely  be  the  most  beautiful 
death  of  all.  On  a  lovely  summer's  day,  to  be  suddenly  struck 
down  by  the  great  marksman  ! 

I  have  seen  a  man  who  moves  in  the  polite  world.  He  is  a  mu- 
sician ;  young,  good-looking,  lively,  and  with  delicate,  well-cared-for 
hands.  The  storm  had  overtaken  him,  and  he  passed  the  night  in 
our  farmhouse.  While  here,  he  told  us : 

"  I  am  already  blind  in  this  eye,  and  my  physician  tells  me  that  I 
shall  lose  the  other  in  less  than  a  year,  and  so  I  have  determined  to 
see  the  great,  vast,  beautiful  world.  He  who  has  not  seen  the  Alps, 
does  not  know  how  beautiful  our  earth  is.  And  so  I  take  it  up 
within  me  once  more.  I  fix  the  sun,  the  mountains,  the  forests, 
the  meads,  the  streams,  the  lakes  and,  above  all,  the  human  face, 
in  my  memory.  Yes,  child,"  said  he  to  me,  "  I  shall  preserve  my 
memory  of  your  face,  for  you  are  the  loveliest  peasant  girl  I  have 
ever  seen.  I  shall  learn  your  face  by  heart,  just  as  I  have  learnt 
poems-,  so  that  I  may  repeat  them  to  myself  and  call  them  back  to 
me  when  darkness  and  solitude  close  in  around  me.  " 

I  felt  quite  constrained,  but  he  was  exceedingly  cheerful.  Now 
and  then,  he  cast  a  curious  glance  at  the  bandage  over  my  brow. 
What  may  he  have  thought  of  it  ? 

I  should  like  to  have  told  him  that  I  had  once,  at  Gunther  's  house, 
sung  a  song  of  his,  but  he  did  not  mention  Gunther 's  name. 

I  cannot  find  words  to  describe  the  impression  that  this  hand- 
some young  man  made  upon  me.  He  seemed  so  full  of  power, 
and  without  the  least  trace  of  weakly  sensibility.  He  comes  from 
the  north,  and  possesses  somewhat  of  the  austere  beauty  of  the 
northern  races.  He  has  breathed  the  salt  sea  air,  and  that  is  what 
makes  him  so  sturdy,  as  they  call  it  there.  Such  natures  impress 
and  arouse  me  ;  one  cannot  remain  languid,  brooding  or  self-com- 
placent, while  in  his  society. 

Oh,  what  cannot  a  strong  will  do !  How  the  human  mind 
wrestles  with  the  powers  of  nature  and  conquers  them  ! 

To-day,  I  have  wept  for  the  first  time  since  the  grandmother's 
death.  I  now  feel  light  and  free  again. 

The  young  musician  has  left,  and  I  could  hear  him  sing  while 
on  his  way  down  the  valley. 

If  I  could  still  be  aught  to  another  human  being — I  could  fee' 


520  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

doubly  as  kind  towards  one  who  could  neither  see  my  brow,  nor 
praise  mv  beauty. 

It  is  over — 

What  strange  shadows  does  the  game  of  life  project,  even  unto 
us  up  here  ! 

This  visit  has  satisfied  me  that  there  is  a  large  share  of  vanity 
still  remaining  in  Walpurga.  She  could  not  help  gradually  direct- 
ing the  conversation  to  the  subject,  and,  at  last,  told  the  stranger 
that  she  had  been  the  crown  prince's  nurse,  and  had  lived  at  the 
palace  nearly  a  year.  There  is  something  in  her  that  reminds  me 
of  the  man  who  has  many  orders  of  merit,  and  who,  like  a  general 
in  citizen's  dress,  goes  about  without  his  medals  and  decorations. 
He  modestly  deprecates  being  addressed  as  "your  excellency," 
but  nevertheless  enjoys  it.  The  one  year  spent  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  court,  has  not  been  without  its  effect  upon  Walpurga. 

Hansei,  who  felt  kindly  towards  the  stranger,  and  evinced  great 
pity  for  him,  was  evidently  annoyed  by  his  wife's  ostentation  ;  but, 
with  his  usual  great  self-command,  refrained  from  expressing  his 
annoyance.  But,  to-day,  when  they  were  going  to  church,  Hansei 
asked  : 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  have  a  ribbon  around  your  neck  and 
wear  a  picture  of  yourself  and  the  crown  prince,  so  that  no  one 
may  ever  forget  what  you  once  were?  " 

I  do  not  think  that  Walpurga  will  ever  again  allude  to  her  bril- 
liant past. 

The  grandmother's  death  and  funeral  afforded  me  an  opportunity 
to  become  better  acquainted  with  the  village  schoolmaster.  He 
has  a  tolerably  fair  education,  but  delights  in  making  a  display  of 
it,  and  is  fond  of  using  big  words,  in  order  to  impress  the  listener 
and  to  imply:  "You  don't  quite  understand  me,  after  all."  But 
the  hearty  feeling  with  which  he  entered  into  our  grief,  has  raised 
him  in  my  esteem,  and  I  have  frankly  let  him  know  as  much. 
And  so  one  day  he  said  to  me  :  "  Your  skill  in  wood  carving  is  as 

food  as  a  marriage  portion.  You  can  earn  much  money  by  it." 
had  no  idea  what  he  meant  by  the  remark. 

Last  Sunday,  however,  I  was  enlightened. 

He  came  here,  dressed  in  a  black  coat  and  white  cotton  gloves, 
and  made  me  a  formal  offer  of  marriage. 

He  could  not  be  induced  to  believe  that  I  would  never  many,  and 
he  urgently  repeated  his  offer,  saying  that  he  would  only  desist  if  I 
really  loved  another. 

Walpurga  fortunately  came  to  the  rescue.  The  good  man 
seemed  as  if  utterly  crushed  by  his  rejection,  and  went  away. 
Why  must  I  fill  yet  another  heart  with  pain?  Of  my  own,  I  do 
not  care  to  speak. 


I  have  not  yet  done  with  the  schoolma! 

Walpurga  asked  me  why  I  wished  to 
as  I  did  not  care  to  return  to  the  great 
make  this  good  man  happy,  and  would  be 
to  the  children  and  the  poor  of  the  village.  I  have  thus  come  to 
know  myself  anew.  I  am  not  made  for  beneficence.  I  am  not  a 
sister  of  mercy.  I  cannot  visit  the  sick,  unless  I  know  and  love 
them.  I  could  nurse  the  grandmother,  but  no  one  else.  I  dislike 
peasant  rooms,  and  the  dull,  heavy  atmosphere  of  these  abodes  of 
simplicity.  I  am  not  a  beneficent  fairy.  My  senses  are  too  easily 
offended.  I  do  not  care  to  make  myself  better  than  I  am  ;  that  is, 
I  should  like  to  make  myself  better,  but  all  one  can  do  is  to  improve 
the  good  traits  that  already  exist,  and  that  one  good,  trait  I  do  not 
possess.  I  must  be  honest  about  the  matter.  I  could  find  it 
easier  to  live  in  a  convent.  This  confession  does  not  make  me  un- 
happy, but  melancholy.  The  desire  to  enjoy  life,  and  to  commune 
with  myself,  is  so  strong. 

Franz,  Gundel's  betrothed,  has  been  summoned  to  join  his  regi- 
ment. 

My  little  pitchman  has  just  returned  from  the  town  and  brings 
me  news  that  "  there  '11  be  war  with  the  French."  He  tells  me, 
too,  that  our  business  will  become  poor,  that  the  people  do  not 
care  to  buy,  and  that  our  employer  offers  only  half  the  usual  price  ; 
and  so  I  will  be  working  for  stock. — 1,  too,  must  help  to  bear 
the  world's  burden. 

How  strange  it  seems  to  me  that  I  no  longer  know  anything 
about  my  country  and  the  age  in  which  wre  live.  One  consolation 
is  left  me.  In  such  warlike  times,  they  will  not  seek  the  lost  one. 

* 

We  are  all,  unconsciously,  on  heights  from  which  the  graves 
of  our  beloved  dead  are  invisible.  Were  they  ever  present,  there 
would  be  neither  work  nor  song  in  this  world. 

Self-oblivion  or  self-knowledge — about  this,  everything  revolves. 

Even  in  hottest  summer,  I  can  always  see  the  snow-capped 
mountains  before  me.  I  do  not  know  how  to  express  it,  but 
they  always  inspire  me  with  strange  and  confused  emotions.  I 
pay  no  regard  to  the  date  or  the  seasons,  for  I  have  them  all  at 
once. 

In  my  heart  there  is  also  a  spot  on  which  rest  eternal  snows. 

* 

I  have  now  been  here  between  two  and  three  years.  I  have 
formed  a  resolve  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  carry  out.  I  shall  go 
out  into  the  world  once  more.  I  must  again  behold  the  scenes 
of  my  past  life.  I  have  tested  myself  severely. 

May  it  not  be  a  love  of  adventure,  that  genteel  yet  vulgar  desire 


522  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

to  undertake  what  is  unusual  or  fraught  with  peril?  Or  is  it  a 
morbid  desire  to  wander  through  the  world  after  having  died,  as  it 
were  ? 

Xo  ;  far  from  it.  What  can  it  be  ?  An  intense  longing  to 
roam  again,  if  it  be  only  for  a  few  days.  I  must  kill  the  desire, 
lest  it  kill  me. 

Whence  arises  this  sudden  longing? 

Every  tool  that  I  use  while  at  work,  burns  my  hand. 

I  must  go. 

I  shall  obey  the  impulse,  without  worrying  myself  with  specula- 
tions as  to  its  cause.  I  am  subject  to  the  rules  of  no  order.  My 
will  is  my  only  law.  I  harm  no  one  by  obeying  it.  I  feel  myself 
free  ;  the  world  has  no  power  over  me. 

I  dreaded  informing  Walpurga  of  my  intention.  When  I  did 
so,  her  tone,  her  words,  her  whole  manner,  and  the  fact  that  she, 
for  the  first  time,  called  me  "child,"  made  it  seem  as  if  her  mother 
were  still  speaking  to  me. 

"Child,"  said  she,  "you're  right!  Go!  It'll  do  you  good. 
I  believe  that  you  '11  come  back  and  will  stay  with  us,  but  if  you 
do  n't,  and  another  life  opens  up  to  you — your  expiation  has  been  a 
bitter  one,  far  heavier  than  your  sin." 

Uncle  Peter  was  quite  happy  when  he  learned  that  we  were  to 
be  gone  from  one  Sunday  to  the  Sunday  following.  When  I  asked 
him  whether  he  was  curious  as  to  where  we  were  going,  he  replied  : 

"  It 's  all  one  to  me.  I  'd  travel  over  the  whole  world  with  you, 
wherever  you  'd  care  to  go  ;  and  if  you  were  to  drive  me  away,  I  'd 
follow  you  like  a  dog  and  find  you  again." 

I  shall  take  my  journal  with  me,  and  will  note  down  every  day. 

(By  the  lake.) — I  find  it  difficult  to  write  a  word. 

The  threshold  I  am  obliged  to  cross,  in  order  to  go  out  into  the 
world,  is  my  own  gravestone. 

I  am  equal  to  it. 

How  pleasant  it  was  to  descend  towards  the  valley.  Uncle 
Peter  sang,  and  melodies  suggested  themselves  to  me,  but  I  did 
not  sing.  Suddenly  he  interrupted  himself  and  said  : 

"  In  the  inns,  you  '11  be  my  niece,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  you  must  call  me  '  uncle  '  when  we  're  there  ?  " 

"Of  course,  dear  uncle." 

He  kept  nodding  to  himself,  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  and  was 
quite  happy. 

We  reached  the  inn  at  the  landing.  He  drank,  and  I  drank,  too, 
from  the  same  glass. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  the  hostess. 

"To  the  capital,"  said  he,  although  I  had  not  said  a  word  to 
nim  about  it.  Then,  in  a  whisper,  he  said  to  me  : 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  523 

"  If  you  intend  to  go  elsewhere,  the  people  need  n't  know  every 
thing." 

I  let  him  have  his  own  way.  • 

I  looked  for  the  place  where  I  had  wandered,  at  that  time. 
There — there  was  the  rock — and  on  it  a  cross,  bearing,  in  golden 
characters,  the  inscription : 

Here  perished 

IRMA,  COUNTESS  VON  WILDENORT, 
In  the  twenty-first  year 

of  her  life. 
Traveler,  pray  for  her  and  honor  her  memory. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  lay  there.  When  I  revived,  there  were 
several  people  busying  themselves  about  me  and,  among  them,  my 
little  pitchman,  who  was  quite  violent  in  expressing  his  grief. 

I  was  able  to  walk  to  the  inn.  My  little  pitchman  said  to  the 
people  : 

• "  My  niece  is  n't  used  to  walking  so  far.  She  sits  in  her  room 
all  the  year  round.  She  's  a  wood-carver,  and  a  mighty  clever 
one,  too." 

The  people  were  all  kind  to  me.  Guests  were  constantly  com- 
ing and  going.  Some  of  them  told  the  little  pitchman  that  the 
beautiful  monument  out  yonder  was  a  great  advantage  to  the  inn  ; 
that,  during  the  summer,  it  was  visited  by  hundreds  of  persons ; 
and  that,  every  year,  a  nun  from  the  convent  came  there,  attended 
by  another  nun,  and  prayed  at  the  cross. 

"  And  who  put  up  the  monument  ?  "  asked  the  little  pitchman. 

"  The  brother  of  the  unfortunate  one." 

"  No,  it  was  the  king,"  said  others. 

The  conversation  often  dropped  off,  but  always  began  again 
anew. 

Some  said  that  the  place  must  be  haunted,  for  a  beautiful 
creature  known  as  Black  Esther  had  drowned  herself  at  the  same 
time.  She  was  a  daughter  of  Zenza,  who  was  now  crazed  and 
lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake  ;  and  who  could  tell  whether 
the  beautiful  lady — for  she  was  very  beautiful — had  n't  drowned 
herself,  too.  To  this  the  hostess  angrily  answered  that  the  Count- 
ess had  had  many  gold  chains  and  diamonds  about  her,  and  a 
diamond  star  on  her  forehead  ;  that  the  horse  which  had  thrown 
her  had  been  seen  ;  that  her  brother  had  wanted  to  shoot  the 
horse,  but  it  had  been  bewitched  and,  from  that  day,  would  eat 
nothing  and  at  last  dropped  down  dead.  Others  said  that  the 
Countess's  father  had  commanded  her  to  drown  herself,  and  that 
she  had  been  an  obedient  child  and  had  done  so. 

Thus  I  had  a  glimpse  of  a  legend  in  process  of  formation. 

"  And  why  was  the  father  supposed  to  have  commanded  that  ?  " 
enquired  the  little  nitchman. 


524  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Because  she  loved  a  married  man.     It  won't  do  to  talk  of  that." 

"  Why  won't  it  ?  "  whispered  a  sailor.  "  She  and  the  king  were 
lond  of  each  other,  and,  to  save  herself  from  doing  wrong,  she 
took  her  life." 

How  can  I  describe  my  emotions,  \vhile  listening  to  their  conver- 
sation ? 

Years  hence,  perhaps,  some  solitary  child  of  man  may  cross  the 
lake  and  sing  the  song  of  the  beautiful  countess  with  the  diamond 
star  on  her  brow. 

I  do  not  remember  how  night  came  on,  and  how  I  at  last  fell 
asleep.  I  awoke  and  still  heard  the  song  of  the  drowned  countess. 
Its  sad,  deep  strain  had  filled  my  dream.  All  that  I  had  experi- 
enced seemed  but  as  a  vision.  I  looked  out  of  my  window — I 
looked  across  the  lake  and  beheld  the  golden  characters  in  the 
rosy  dawn. 

•What  was  I  to  do  ?     Should  I  turn  back  ? 

My  little  pitchman  was  quite  happy  when  he  saw  me  so  fresh 
again.  The  hostess  offered  me  a  picture  of  the  monument,  saying 
that  even-  visitor  bought  one.  My  uncle  bargained  with  her,  got 
it  for  half  the  price  she  had  asked,  and  then  presented  it  to  me.  I 
earn,-  the  picture  of  my  gravestone  with  me. 

I  felt  irresistibly  drawn  towards  another  grave — my  father's. 
While  my  hand  rested  on  the  mound,  an  inner  voice  said  to  me : 
"  You  will  be  reconciled." — I  expiate  and  atone  for  my  sin. 

How  the  memories  awakened  by  these  different  spots  agitated 
me.  I  cannot  write  about  it — my  heart  is  breaking  !  Besides  this, 
it  is  filled  with  fear.  I  shall  be  brief.  I  am  unable  to  continue  my 
recital.  I  shall  never  again  look  at  these  pages. 

We  went  to  the  Frauensee  and  crossed  over  to  the  convent. 
Among  the  nuns,  I  saw  my  beloved  Emma,  who  makes  a  yearly 
pilgrimage  to  my  gravestone.  For  the  first  time  in  many  years,  I 
prayed  with  her.  What  difference  does  it  make  whether  one  still 
lives  or  is  dead,  as  long  as  the  thought — 

My  hand  trembles  while  I  write,  but  I  will.     .     .     . 

I  had  left  the  convent  and  was  returning  across  the  lake,  when 
the  thought  flashed  upon  me  :  "  I  expiate  in  freedom  !  That  is 
my  only  pride.  My  will  holds  me  as  fast  as  the  bolts  of  the  con- 
vent gate  would  do,  and  I — I— work — " 

Even-thing  was  carried  out  just  as  I  had  determined.  I  saw  the 
whole  world  once  more  and  bade  it  adieu. 

We  journeyed  to  the  capital.  The  city  noises  and  the  rapid 
driving  alarmed  me. 

When  I  again  heard  the  rustling  of  a  silk  gown,  for  the  first 
.ime,  the  sound  quite  affected  me.  I  felt  as  if  impelled  to  accost 
.he  first  lady  I  met  in  a  fashionable  bonnet  and  veil.  These  people 
seemed  to  belong  to  me.  I  felt  as  if  returning  from  the  lower  re- 
gions into  sunlight. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  525 

I  stopped  to  read  the  placards  that  were  posted  up  at  the  corners 
of  the  streets.  Am  I  still  living  in  the  same  world  ? 

There  is  music,  singing,  etc.  One  amuses  the  other.  No  one 
finds  life's  joys  within  himself. 

All  things  in  this  world  are  related  to  each  other.  Thou  hast 
lost  the  connecting  link. 

I  was  sitting  in  a  small  inn,  while  I  looked  on  at  the  bustling  life 
of  the  city. 

I  saw  the  houses  here  and  there — and  it  seemed  as"  if  I  beheld 
the  ghost  of  a  part  of  my  life.  If  the  people  knew —  There  are 
streets  here  with  which  I  am  not  acquainted.  Men  pass  without  a 
thought  for  each  other.  City  folk  all  look  ill-humored  ;  I  have  not 
met  one  sunny,  happy  face. 

I  went  to  the  picture  gallery.  What  delights  the  eye  there  feeds 
upon  !  And  besides  these,  there  is  the  intoxicating  wealth  of  color 
and  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  place  itself.  I  saw  my  old  teacher 
and  heard  him  saying  to  a  stranger :  "  A  work  of  art  does  not  derive 
its  great  historical  character  from  the  importance  of  the  subject,  or 
the  size  of  the  picture.  What  is  required  of  the  artist  is  that  he 
should  be  filled  with,  and,  at  the  same  time,  transport  the  beholder 
to,  the  scene  that  he  attempts  to  depict.  The  same  subject  can  be 
conceived  in  various  ways,  and  may  be  executed  either  as  a  light* 
genre  piece,  or  in  the  grand  and  more  enduring  historical  style." 

While  I  passed  through  the  rooms,  I  felt  like  one  intoxicated. 
All  my  old  friends  greeted  me.  They  are  clothed  in  undying  col- 
ors, and  have  remained  faithful  and  unchanged.  The  power  of 
nature  and  of  art  lie  in  their  truthfulness.  But  they  do  not  speak  , 
they  merely  exist.  No — nature  alone  is  mute ;  art  lends  it  voice. 
It  is  not  by  the  lips  alone  that  the  human  mind  expresses  itself.  I 
felt  as  if  the  Maria  /Egyptica  must  suddenly  turn  towards  me  and 
ask :  "  Do  you  know  me  now  ?  " 

I  grew  dizzy  and  fearful. 

While  in  the  Raphael  gallery,  environed  by  the  highest  beauty 
earth  has  ever  known,  conceived  as  only  the  clearest  eye  could 
conceive  it,  I  felt  as  if  in  another  world. 

A  happy  thought  occurred  to  me :  Art  is  the  first  liberator  of 
humanity,  evoking  a  second,  joy-creating  life,  and — what  is  even  a 
greater  boon — revealing  the  highest  realm,  where  every  one  who  is 
called  may  enter.  The  poor  son  of  the  people  says :  "  I  and  my 
spirit  shall  dwell  in  this  lofty,  this  blessed  abode."  He  reigns  there 
eternally,  surrounded  by  his  ancestors  in  art.  There  dwells  immor- 
tality ;  or,  better  still,  death  never  enters  there.  The  paternal  man- 
sion of  free,  creative  art  contains  infinite  space,  and  is  an  eternal 
home.  Let  him  who  has  lived  happily,  enter  there. 

* 

I  stood  before  the  palace.     The  windows  of  the  room  that  I  once 


526  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

occupied  were  open.  My  parrot  was  still  there  in  its  golden  cag-e, 
and  called  out:  "God  keep  you  !  God  keep  you  !"  But  it  does 
not  add  my  name,  for  it  has  forgotten  it. 

* 

On  the  table  before  me  there  lay  a  newspaper,  the  first  that  I  had 
seen  for  years.  It  was  long  before  I  could  summon  resolution  to 
read  it,  but  I  did  so  at  last  and  read  as  follows : 

"  His  majesty  the  king  has  departed  for  the  sea  baths,  where  he 
will  remain  for  six  weeks.  Prime  minister  Von  Bronnen."  (Yon 
Bronnen  minister!)  "Count  Wildenort,  master  of  the  horse,"  (my 
brother !)  "  and  privy  councilor  Sixtus,  the  king's  physician,  are  of 
his  suite." 

How  much  these  few  lines  conveyed  to  me  !  There  was  no  need 
of  my  reading  any  further.  Yet  there  was  another  paragraph,  say- 
ing: 

"  Her  majesty  the  queen,  accompanied  by  his  royal  highness  the 
crown  prince,  has  removed  to  the  summer  palace." 

* 

I  walked  about  the  city  and  looked  into  the  shop  windows  and  at 
the  many  objects  which  I  no  longer  require.  In  one  of  the  windows, 
I  found  some  of  my  carvings  on  exhibition.  "  That 's  our  work  !  " 
exclaimed  the  little  pitchman,  who  boldly  went  into  the  shop  and 
enquired  as  to  the  price,  and  also  asked  by  whom  they  had  been 
done.  The  price  named  was  a  high  one,  and  the  merchant  added  • 
"These  works  of  art" — yes,  he  spoke  of  them  as  works  of  art — 
"are  made  by  a  half-crazy  peasant  girl,  who  lives  in  the  Highlands." 

I  looked  at  my  little  pitchman.  He  was  terribly  afraid.  His 
glance  seemed  to  implore  me  not  to  lose  my  senses  while  away 
from  home.  His  fear  was  not  without  good  grounds,  for,  in  spite 
of  my  self-control,  my  faithful  guide  must  have  found  much  that 
was  strange  in  my  behavior. 

I  bought  several  small  plaster  casts  of  gems  of  Greek  art ;  and 
now  I  have  types  of  undying  beauty  ever  with  me.  It  required 
clever  management  to  effect  such  unusual  purchases,  and  I  only 
ventured  to  attempt  it  during  the  twilight  hour. 

I  saw  many  familiar  faces,  but  always  quickly  averted  mine.  I 
would  so  gladly  have  spoken  to  Mademoiselle  Kramer.  She  has 
become  quite  aged.  She  was  carrying  a  book  with  the  yellow 
label  of  the  circulating  library.  How  many  thousands  of  books 
the  dear  old  woman  must  have  read  !  She  reads  book  after  book, 
just  as  men  smoke  cigars. 

I  went  to  Gunther's  house.  The  courtyard  gate  was  open. 
There  is  now  a  factor}-  there,  and  the  lovel'v  trees  have  all  been 
felled. 

On  the  head  of  the  figure  of  Victor}'  at  the  arsenal,  there  sat  a 
pigeon  with  glossy  plumage —  Although  without  eye-glasses,  I 
could  see  the  figure  quite  distinctly. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  527 

The  evening  afforded  me  pure  delight — the  purest  I  ever  knew 
or,  as  I  firmly  believe,  ever  will  know. 

Mozart's  "  Magic  Flute  "  was  performed  at  the  theatre. 

I  went  there  with  my  little  pitchman.  We  sat  in  the  uppermost 
tier.  I  saw  no  one,  although  the  crowded  house  must  have  con- 
tained many  whom  I  knew.  All  my  senses  were  held  captive  by 
music's  magic  spell. 

It  is  past  midnight.  My  little  pitchman  and  I  are  stopping  at  a 
teamsters'  inn.  I  cannot  rest  until  I  put  my  feelings  into  words-. 

Mozart's  "  Magic  Flute "  is  one  of  those  immortal  creations 
that  dwell  in  purest  ether,  in  a  region  beyond  the  passions  and 
struggles  of  mankind.  I  have  often  heard  the  text  objected  to  as 
puerile,  but,  at  that  height,  all  action,  all  understanding,  all  person- 
ages, all  surroundings,  must  needs  be  allegorical.  All  that  is  hard 
and  narrow  is  cast  aside,  and  man  becomes  a  bird,  his  life  pure  and 
natural,  full  of  love  and  wisdom.  The  childlike  or  childish  char- 
acter of  the  text  is  singularly  true  to  nature.  It  is  only  the  blase 
who  can  find  it  dull  and  insipid. 

It  is  Mozart's  last  dramatic  work,  and  in  it  he  appears  at  his  best, 
in  all  the  fullness  of  his  genius,  as  if  already  transfigured.  His  vari- 
ous figures  pass  before  him  in  review,  created  anew,  as  it  were  ;  less 
fixed  and  individualized,  but  all  the  more  pure  and  etherial.  Us- 
ing the  word  in  its  best  sense,  there  is  something  supernatural  in 
the  way  in  which  he  has  here  gathered  and  combined  the  chords 
that  else  were  scattered,  into  one  harmonious  whole. 

The  opening  chorus  of  priests  is  the  march  of  humanity,  and 
the  "  O  Isis  !  "  is  full  of  the  sunshine  of  blissful  peace.  This  is  the 
fabled  paradise — a  life  above  this,  in  the  free  ether,  beyond  the 
reach  of  storm  or  tempest ;  a  region  to  which  music  alone  can 
transport  us. 

For  hours,  I  felt  as  if  thus  transported,  and  know  not  how  I  de- 
scended again.  Thoughts  without  number  hover  about  me.  This 
music  breathes  a  spirit  of  noble,  self-conscious  repose,  and  is  free 
from  all  oppressed  humility.  It  is  a  life  that  can  never  fade  ;  nay, 
it  is  the  odor  of  ripened  fruit. 

-  This  last  work  of  Mozart's  has  a  companion  piece  in  Lessing's 
last  work  :  "  Nathan  the  Wise."  In  both  of  them  the  soul  wings  its 
flight  far  beyond  the  disjointed,  struggling  world  and  dwells  in  the 
pure  region  beyond,  where  peace  and  piety  have  become  actual 
existences,  and  where  the  vexations  of  narrow,  circumscribed, 
finite  humanity  provoke  but  a  smile.  The  great  treasure  of  hu- 
manity is  not  buried  in  the  past ;  it  must  be  dug  out,  fashioned 
and  created  from  the  future. 

"  Nathan  "  and  the  "  Magic  Flute  "  abound  with  precious  gems. 
They  prove  that  happiness  is  not  an  illusion,  but  they  speak  in  a 
language  unintelligible  to  him  who  does  not  bear  within  himself  a 
sense  of  things  above  this  life. 


528  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

To  have  lived  such  hours  is  life  eternal. 

The  song  of  the  three  boys  is  full  of  divine  bliss.  If  the  angels 
in  Raphael's  Sistine  Madonna  were  to  sing,  such  would  be  theii 
melodies,  and  in  this  register  would  their  voices  move. 

I  would  like  to  hear  such  sounds  at  my  dying  hour,  for  that 
would  be  an  ecstatic  death. 

If  such  ecstasy  could  only  continue  without  interruption. 

Alter  the  opera  was  over,  I  sat  in  the  park  for  a  long  time.  All 
was  dark  and  silent. 

Filled  with  this  music,  I  would  gladly  fly  back  to  my  forest  soli- 
tude, have  nothing  more  to  do  \vith  the  \vorld,  and  silently  pass 
away.  After  these,  no  other  tones  should  fall  upon  my  ear  and 
disturb  me. 

But  I  was  obliged  to  return  to  the  world. 

And  here  I  sit,  late  at  night,  the  whole  world  resting  in  sleep 
and  self-oblivion,  while  I  am  awake  in  self-oblivion. 

O  ye  eternal  spirits  !  Could  one  but  be  with  you  and  utter  a 
word,  a  sound,  that  should  pass  into  infinity  !  In  yonder  gallery, 
eyes  that  never  close,  look  down  upon  the  coming  and  departing 
generations.  And  here  there  are  undying  harmonies  and  imper- 
ishable words. 

0  ye  blessed  spirits,  ye  who  through  art  create  a  second  world  ! 
The  world  confuses  and  perplexes  us,  but  ye  make  everything  clear 
as  the  light  of  day.     Ye  are  the  blessed  genii  who  ever  offer  man- 
kind the  wine  of  lite  in  the  golden  chalice  which,  though  millions 
drink  from  it,  is  never  emptied. 

It  is  with  deep  pain  that  I  depart  from  the  realm  of  color  and 
that  of  sound.  This,  and  this  only,  is  indeed  a  deprivation. 

And  now  for  the  last  halting  place. 

We  wandered  on  in  the  direction  of  the  summer  palace.  We 
walked  up  and  down  before  the  park  railing.  Up  by  the  chapel, 
and  under  the  weeping  ash,  I  could  see  the  court  ladies  sitting  on 
the  ornamented  chairs  and  busy  with  their  embroidery.  Ah,  there 
is  many  a  one  there,  no  better  than  I  am,  and  yet  she  jests  and 
laughs,  is  happy  and  respected.  Aye,  there  lies  the  misery.  We 
are  constantly  blunting  our  moral  sense  and  saying  to  ourselves 
"  Look  about  you  ;  others  are  no  better  than  you  are." 

Presently  they  all  arose  and  bowed  profoundly.  The  gates  were 
opened  and  the  queen  drove  out,  the  prince  sitting  beside  her.  She 
looked  at  me  and  the  little  pitchman,  and  greeted  us.  My  eyes 
failed  me. 

1  know  not.     Did   I  see  aright?     The  queen  looked  cheerful. 
The  prince  has  become  a  fine  boy.     He  has  kept  the  promise  of 

his  infancy. 

My  little  pitchman  conversed  with  a  stone-breaker,  who  was 
working  on  the  road.  He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the  queen 
and  her  only  child,  the  crown  prince.  So  she  has  only  one  child--- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  529 

I  was  so  weary  that  I  was  obliged  to  rest  by  the  wayside.  In 
former  days,  I  had  so  often  proudly  passed  by  the  spot  where  I 
was  now  sitting.  No  matter  !  It  is  well  that  it  is  so.  The  little 
pitchman  was  delighted  when  I  told  him  that  our  path  now  lay 
homeward.  He  must  have  felt  quite  alarmed  about  me,  and  must 
have  thought  to  himself:  "  The  folks  who  say  that  you  're  not  quite 
right,  were  not  so  far  out  after  all." 

* 

Those  who  see  me  not,  think  me  dead  ;  those  who  do  see  me, 
think  me  crazed. 

1  had  determined  that,  in  case  of  discovery,  I  would  tell  all  to 
the  king  and  queen,  and,  after  that,  quietly  return  to  my  retreat. 

It  is  better  thus. 

* 

We  returned  home.  When  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
on  which  we  live,  and  had  begun  to  ascend  it,  I  asked  myself:  "  Is 
this  your  home?"  And  yet,  absence  makes  it  seem  like  a  new 
home.  The  life  I  lead  here  is  a  real  life. 

Since  I  have  noted  down  this  thought,  I  feel  as  if  a  weight  were 
lifted  from  my  heart.  While  writing,  I  often  felt  as  giddy  as  if 
standing  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  ;  but  I  shall  remain  firm.  I 
will  not  look  at  these  pages  again.  But  now  work  begins  once 
more,  and  my  head  will  cease  to  be  filled  with  thoughts  of  repent- 
ance. The  next  minute  is  ours ;  the  passing  moment  is  scarcely 
so  ;  and  the  past  one  not  at  all. 

There  is  much  work  awaiting  me.  I  am  glad  that  it  is  so. 
Walpurga  and  the  children  are  quite  happy  to  have  me  with  them 
again. 

H> 

During  my  absence,  Walpurga  had  my  room  painted  a  pale  red. 
It  is  in  wretched  taste,  and  yet  I  must  needs  show  myself  grateful. 
She  thought  that  I  would  not  return. 

These  people  constitute  my  whole  world,  and  yet  I  could  leave 
hem  any  minute.     Will  it  be  thus  when  I,  too,  leave  the  world  ? 

* 

Courageously  to  forego  the  world — I  think  I  have  read  the  ex- 
pression somewhere ;  but  now  I  understand  it.  I  feel  it  within 
myself  and  am  carrying  it  out ;  not  timidly,  not  sadly, — but  cour- 
ageously. 

* 

I  am  no  longer  sad.  The  calm  satisfaction  with  which  I  resign 
the  world  emancipates  me. 

When  I  look  at  life,  I  ask  myself:  "Why  all  these  struggles  and 
all  these  barriers,  until  we  come  to  the  last  barrier  of  all,  unto 
death  itself?  "  The  great  heroes  of  history  and  my  little  pitchman 
—  not  one  of  them  had  the  odds  of  fortune  in  his  favor.  No  des- 
tiny is  completely  and  purely  fulfilled. 
23 


530  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Old  Jochem  said  his  prayers  every  day,  and  would  often  pass 
whole  hours  thus  employed  ;  yet  he  would  curse  mankind  and  his 
own  fate.  And  I  have  known  ladies  of  quality,  who,  after  listen- 
ing in  rapt  ecstasy  to  the  music  of  Beethoven,  would  dispute  and 
wrangle  after  the  most  vulgar  fashion. 

"  Courageously  to  forego."  The  words  are  ever  haunting  me. 
Thanks  for  this  precept,  kind  spirit,  whoever  thou  mayst  be  !  To 
live  out  the  day  and  not  allow  it  to  be  darkened  by  the  knowledge 
that  night  must  come,  to  forego  with  courage — that  is  the  sum  of  all. 

I  never  would  have  believed  that  I  could  live  without  joy,  with- 
out pleasures  ;  but  now  I  see  that  I  can.  Joy  and  pleasure  are  not 
the  conditions  upon  which  my  life  is  based. 

We  have  it  in  our  power  to  attune  the  mind  to  cheerfulness ; 
that  is,  to  calmness  and  clearness. 

* 

How  many  years  was  it  that  Hermione,  of  the  "Winter's  Tale," 
remained  hidden  ?  I  have  quite  forgotten. 

I  am  constantly  reminded,  while  at  work,  of  various  passages, 
of  the  solos,  the  great  choruses,  and  even  the  instrumental  accom- 
paniments, in  Mozart's  "  Magic  Flute."  They  fill  the  silent  air 
with  their  sounds,  and  bear  me  aloft. 

Above  all,  the  appeal,  "  Be  steadfast ! "  with  the  three  short 
notes,  d,  e,  d,  and  the  trumpet-blast  that  follows,  is  ever  sounding 
in  my  ears  like  some  spiritual  watchword.  The  highest  truths 
should  be  conveyed  by  music  alone,  and  would  thus  become  more 
forcible  and  enduring.  Be  steadfast — 

I  am  again  trying  to  solve  the  enigma  of  life. 

Man  may  not  do  all  that  he  can,  or  to  which  he  feels  impelled. 
Since  he  is  human,  he  must  recognize  the  limit  of  his  rights  before 
he  reaches  the  limit  of  his  powers. 

At  court  they  often  discussed  the  saying :  '•  Right  before  might." 
I  have  melted  down  the  phrase  in  the  alembic  of  thought.  I 
have  coined  it  anew. 

How  beautiful  is  the  legend  of  paradise  !  The  first  human  pair 
were  placed  there ;  as  far  as  their  powers  went,  everything,  with 
a  single  exception,  was  permitted  to  them — and  the  fruit  tempted 
them.  But  there  is  no  paradise.  The  beast  alone  possesses  what 
may  be  termed  paradise.  It  is  free  to  do  whatever  it  can.  As  long, 
however,  as  there  is  a  prohibition  which  man,  as  a  moral  being 
must  know,  there  can  be  no  paradise,  for  perfect  freedom  is  at 
in  end. 

What  I  mean  is  this  :  self-consciousness  is  gained  by  overstepping 
the  barrier.  It  is  eating  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 
From  that  moment,  man's  joys  are  no  longer  provided  for  him 
He  must  create  them,  either  from  within  himself  or  from  his  sur- 
roundings. Now  he  begins  to  wrestle  with  nature,  and  his  life 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  531 

becomes  one  of  deeds.  Work,  whether  directed  to  self-perfection  or 
intended  to  benefit  the  world,  is  a  second  creation. 

My  every  thought  seems  as  if  it  were  an  inarticulate,  stammering 
attempt  to  express  the  words  of  knowledge. 

The  little  world  around  me  and  the  so-called  great  world  that 
still  lives  in  my  memory,  now  seem  to  me  as  if  illumined  and  ren- 
dered transparent  by  the  golden  sunlight. 

To  perceive  the  barriers,  and  thus  recognize  the  necessity  of  law, 
is  liberty.  I  am  free  at  last. 

I  did  well  in  going  out  into  the  world  again.  Or  do  I  merely 
think  so  because  I  feel  that  I  have  done  right  ?  I  am  a  freer  being 
now.  T  have  ceased  to  be  the  poor  soul  that  longed  to  return  to 
the  world.  My  life  is  no  longer  a  hell.  I  could  now  return  to  the 
world  without  fear.  Now  that  I  can  courageously  forego  it,  I  do 
not  feel  the  privation.  Oh,  how  presumptuous  we  are  to  imagine 
that  others  need  us !  I,  too,  no  longer  need  any  one. 

* 

The  telegraph  wires  are  being  put  up  between  here  and  my  forest 
view.  The  busy  doings  of  the  great  world  are  now  to  pass  by  me. 
I  can  see  men  on  the  ladders,  fastening  the  wires  to  the  high 
poles. 

Walpurga  tells  me  that  my  voice  is  quite  hoarse,  but  I  feel  quite 
well.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  speak  so  little,  sometimes  passing 
whole  days  without  uttering  a  word.  The  cool,  pure  breezes  that 
I  inhale  every  morning  are  like  a  refreshing  draught,  and  the  blue 
of  the  sky  is  far  deeper  up  here. 

* 

Gunther  once  told  me  that  I  am  of  an  unrhythmic  temperament. 
He  was  in  the  right.  If  I  were  not,  I  would  now  express  my 
deepest  thoughts  in  melodious  words.  I  feel  so  happy,  so  free, 
that  my  thoughts  could  find  proper  expression  in  poetry  alone. 

Although  Hansei  has  now  been  in  possession  for  a  long  while, 
he  seems  grateful  for  everything.  It  makes  him  happy  to  know 
that  he  is  able  to  buy  fine  cows  and  pretty  bells  for  them,  and  this 
gratitude  for  his  good  fortune  lends  an  inner  tenderness  to  his 
rough  exterior. 

* 

(August  28th.) — After  long,  sunless  days  of  deathlike  torpor, 
the  sky  is  bright  and  clear  again.  The  snowy  peaks,  the  green 
hills  and  the  valleys  are  bathed  in  sunshine.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  fly 
away  and  soar  through  space  ;  but  I  remain  here  and  work ;  for,  as 
my  work  was  faithful  to  me  in  dark  days,  so  shall  I  remain  faith- 
ful to  it  in  bright  ones.  I  shall  only  wander  forth  when  evening 
comes  and  work  is  at  an  end.  This  is  Goethe's  birthday.  I  think 


532  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Goethe  would  have  been  friendly  towards  me,  if  I  had  lived  in  his 
time  and  near  him. 

It  is  pleasant,  after  all,  that  we  know  the  hour  of  his  birth.  It 
was  at  noon.  I  write  these  lines  during  the  very  hour,  and  my 
thoughts  are  of  him. 

What  would  he  have  counseled  me  to  do  with  my  lost  life  ? 

Is  it  a  lost  life  ? — It  is  not. 

* 

Franz  has  returned  from  the  target  shooting  and  was  the  hero 
of  the  occasion.  What  shouts  of  joy  and  triumph  !  He  gained 
the  first  prize,  a  fine  rifle.  The  target,  riddled  with  bullets,  is  dis- 
played before  our  house. 

* 

A  falling  leaf  in  autumn — how  many  bright  summer  days  and 
mild  nights  were  required  to  perfect  it  ?  What  was  it  while  it 
hung  on  the  tree  ?  What  is  it  now,  when  it  foils  to  the  ground  ? 

And  what  is  the  result  of  a  whole  human  life,  when  summed  up 
in  a  few  sentences  ? 

* 

How  many  feet  is  our  farm  above  the  level  of  the  sea  ?  I  do 
not  know,  and  Hansei  would  smile  to  think  of  one's  asking  such  a 
question.  We  perform  our  duty  on  the  little  spot  of  earth  on 
which  we  dwell.  Its  effect  flows  out  into  the  great  sea  of  human- 
ity and  of  history,  without  any  interference  of  ours.  The  brook 
goes  on  in  its  course,  driving  the  mill-wheels,  irrigating  the  mead- 
ows, and  is  at  last  swallowed  up  in  the  ocean,  whence  come  the 
clouds  and  storms  that  again  feed  the  brook. 

* 

In  spite  of  all  that  I  grew  up  to,  all  that,  in  a  course  of  years,  I 
have  practiced,  acted,  or  thought,  I  cannot  help  regarding  myself 
as  a  block  of  wood — even  now,  I  know  not  what  will  become  of 
me,  or  who  will  hew  me  into  shape. 

I  have  a  beautiful  task  on  hand — a  piece  of  work  that  will  re- 
main and  be  a  constant  pleasure  to  me — work  for  our  own  house. 

When  the  additions  were  made  to  the  dwelling,  I  succeeded, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  carpenter,  in  giving  greater  symmetry 
to  the  dwelling  itself.  The  piazza  running  round  the  house,  re- 
ceived a  more  open  roof,  and  the  balustrade  a  more  pleasing  form. 

Hansei  has  often  said  that  the  forest  clearing  would  make  a 
beautiful  meadow.  Yesterday,  he  came  home  and  said  : 

"  I  have  it !  I  'm  having  the  trees  on  the  hillside  felled,  and  have 
left  four  fine  trunks  standing.  They  form  a  square  and  I  '11  have 
a  hut  built  there,  and  then  we  '11  have  a  mountain  meadow  of  our 
own.  The  farm  can't  thrive  without  one.  It 's  far  up,  to  be  sure — 
about  two  hours  walk ;  but  we  can  see  the  clearing  from  here." 

"  And  just  think  of  it,"  said  Hansei,  who  was  delighted  with  his 
plan,  "  where  the  trees  have  been  cut  down  in  front,  you  can  see 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  533 

ever  so  far,  way  off  to  the  lake  where  we  used  to  live.  To  be  sure, 
it 's  nothing  more  than  a  little  sparkling  spot  of  blue,  but  it  looks  at 
one  so  kindly,  just  like  a  faithful  eye  from  home,  or  like  one  who 
has  known  you  from  childhood.  It  was  beautiful  at  our  home,  but 
it 's  more  beautiful  here  ;  so  do  n't  let  us  sin  by  being  ungrateful." 

I  have  made  the  drawings  for  the  shepherd's  hut.  My  little 
pitchman  is  quite  clever  in  cutting  everything.  We  are  working 
at  our  Noah's  ark,  and  are  as  merry  as  apprentices. 

I  am  also  carving  a  horse's  head  in  life  size,  for  the  gable  of  the 
roof. 

* 

Hansei  and  I  have  just  returned  from  where  the  new  shepherd's 
hut  is  being  built. 

After  the  invigorating  mountain  ascent  of  to-day,  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  been  present  at  the  dawning  of  creation:  a  new  road,  a^new 
dwelling  and  a  spot  where  human  being  had  never  been  before.  I 
feel  as  if  experience  had  nothing  more  in  store  for  me ;  as  if  all 
earthly  burdens  had  fallen  from  me. 

When,  after  a  day  of  great  exertion  and  mountain  climbing,  one 
awakes  on  the  following  morning,  the  fatigue  has  passed  away. 
One  feels  refreshed  and  invigorated,  and  satisfied  with  the  test  to 
which  he  has  subjected  himself;  for  it  has  proved  his  power  of  en- 
durance and  his  ability  to  impose  tasks  upon  himself.  For  awhile, 
I  had  left  my  past  and  possessed  nothing  but  myself.  Now  that  I 
have  returned  to  familiar  scenes,  they  welcome  me  again.  I  can 
easily  realize  the  calm  peacefulness  of  those  who  thus  picture  to 
themselves  the  awakening  to  the  eternal  life. 

The  shepherd's  hut  is  empty.  The  walls  are  bare,  except  where 
the  picture  of  our  Savior  hangs  in  the  corner,  waiting  for  the  beings 
who  are  to  come  there.  It  is,  and  ever  will  remain,  a  blessing 
that  men  can  thus  bear  with  them,  to  desert  wastes  and  lonely 
heights,  the  image  of  pure  and  perfect  man.  It  is  this  which  en- 
ables a  more  perfect  civilization  and  a  great  history  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  modern  world. 

If  only  the  pure  knowledge  of  the  pure  spirit  always  went  with  it. 

(October.) — Now  that  winter  approaches,  my  thoughts  are  al- 
ways of  the  lonely  shepherd's  hut,  upon  the  mountain.  I  am 
always  there  in  my  dreams,  alone  and  undergoing  strange  experi- 
ences. I  think  I  must  move  up  there  next  spring.  I  feel  that 
life  will  be  incomplete  until  I  have  spent  a  whole  summer  with 
plants  and  beasts,  with  mountain  and  brook,  with  the  sun,  the 
noon  and  the  stars. 

Art  tliou  still  dissatisfied,  insatiate  heart,  always  longing  for 
something  else  ?  What  can  it  be  ?  I  must  and  will  have  rest  ! 


534  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

He  who  needs  nothing  but  himself  to  be  happy,  is  happy  indeed, 

* 

Here,  once  again,  I  am  like  the  first  human  being  that  walked  the 
earth. 

Man,  of  himself,  is  pure  and  unsullied,  and  out  of  him,  flows  the 
world.  There  lies  the  secret  which  I  shall  not  name. 

* 

It  makes  me  happy  to  think  that  I  am  to  go  still  higher ;  further 
up  the  mountain,  where  it  is  even  quieter  and  more  lonely  than  here. 
I  feel  as  if  something  were  calling  me  there.  It  is  neither  a  voice, 
nor  a  sound.  I  know  not  what  it  is,  and  yet  it  calls  me,  draws  me, 
allures  me,  with  its  :  "  Come  !  come  !  " — Yes,  I  am  coming  ! 

I  know  that  I  am  not  dying.  I  would  sooner  doubt  that  I  am 
living.  The  world  is  no  longer  an  enigma  to  me. 

From  my  mountain  height  I  look  down  on  those  I  have  wronged. 
They  are  my  father,  my  queen,  and,  worst  of  all,  myself ! 

Of  all  things  in  this  world,  untruth  is  the  surest  to  avenge  itself. 
When  I  wrote  to  the  king,  from  the  convent,  I  vaunted  my  truth- 
fulness and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  I  was  thoroughly  untruthful.  I 
aimed  at  bringing  about  an  act  of  freedom  and  yet,  at  heart,  my 
only  desire  was  to  write  to  him  and  impress  him  by  my  love  of 
liberty.  I  felt  proud  of  my  opposition  to  popular  opinion  and  hoped 
thus  to  show  him  that  I  was  his  strong  friend.  He  declined  my 
proffered  advice,  and  yet  it  was  I  who  again  opened  the  convents. 

Falsehood  avenges  itself. 

Purity  and  freedom  can  only  exist  where  there  is  perfect  truth- 
fulness. 

* 

If  I  could  only  find  words  to  express  the  delight  with  which  to- 
day's sunset  filled  me  !  It  is  night,  and  as  surely  as  the  sun  shone 
on  my  face,  so  surely  does  a  ray  of  sunlight  shine  within  me.  I 
am  a  ray  of  eternity.  Compared  with  it,  what  are  days  or  years  ? 
What  is  a  whole  human  life  ? 

* 

I  never  rightly  knew  wrhy  I  was  always  dissatisfied,  and  yearn- 
ing for  the  next  hour,  the  next  day,  the  next  year,  hoping  that  it 
would  bring  me  that  which  I  could  not  find  in  the  present.  It  was 
not  love,  for  love  does  not  satisfy.  I  desired  to  live  in  the  passing 
moment,  but  could  not.  It  always  seemed  as  if  something  were 
waiting  for  me  without  the  door,  and  calling  me.  What  could  it 
have  been  ? 

I  know  now ;  it  was  a  desire  to  be  at  one  with  myself,  to  under- 
stand myself.  Myself  in  the  world,  and  the  world  in  me. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  535 

The  vain  man  is  the  loneliest  of  human  beings.  He  is  con- 
stantly longing  to  be  seen,  understood,  acknowledged,  admired  and 
loved. 

I  could  say  much  on  the  subject,  for  I,  too,  was  once  vain.  It 
was  only  in  actual  solitude  that  I  conquered  the  loneliness  of  vanity. 
It  is  enough  for  me  that  I  exist. 

How  far  removed  this  is  from  all  that  is  mere  show. 

* 

Now  I  understand  my  father's  last  act.  He  did  not  mean  to 
punish  me.  His  only  desire  was  to  arouse  me,  to  lead  me  to  self- 
consciousness,  to  the  knowledge  that,  teaching  us  to  become  differ- 
ent from  what  we  are,  saves  us. 

* 

I  understand  the  inscription  in  my  father's  library:  "When  I 
am  alone,  then  am  I  least  alone." 

Yes  ;  when  alone,  one  can  more  perfectly  lose  himself  in  the  life 
universal.  I  have  lived  and  have  come  to  know  the  truth.  I  can 

now  die. 

* 

He  who  is  at  one  with  himself,  possesses  all. 

* 

What  will  people  say  ? — These  few  words  represent  the  world's 
tyranny,  the  power  that  perverts  our  nature  and  temperaments, 
and  account  for  our  mental  obliquity  of  vision.  These  four  words 
rule  everywhere.  Walpurga  is  swayed  by  them,  while  Hansei  has 
quite  a  different  standard,  the  only  true  one.  Without  knowing  it, 
he  acts  just  as  Gunther  would  have  done. 

Man's  first  and  only  duty  is  to  preserve  his  peace  of  mind.  He 
should  be  utterly  indifferent  as  to  "what  the  people  will  say." 
That  question  makes  the  mind  homeless.  Do  right  and  fear 
naught !  Rest  assured  that  with  all  your  consideration  for  the 
world,  you  can  never  satisfy  it.  But  if  you  will^go  on  in  your  own 
way,  indifferent  to  the  praise  or  blame  of  others,  you  have  con- 
quered the  world,  and  it  cheerfully  subjects  itself  to  you.  As  long 
as  you  care  for  "what  the  people  will  say,"  so  long  are  you  the 
slave  of  others. 

* 

I  believe  that  I  know  what  I  have  done.  I  have  no  compassion 
for  myself.  This  is  my  full  confession. 

I  have  sinned — not  against  nature,  but  against  the  world's  rules. 
Is  that  sin?  Look  at  the  tall  pines  in  yonder  forest.  The  higher 
the  tree  grows,  the  more  do  the  lower  branches  die  away,  and  thus 
the  tree  in  the  thick  forest  is  protected  and  sheltered  by  its  fellows, 
but  can,  nevertheless,  not  perfect  itself  in  all  directions. 

I  desired  to  lead  a  full  and  complete  life  and  yet  to  be  in  the  for- 
est, to  be  in  the  world  and  yet  in  society.  But  he  who  means  to 
live  thus,  must  remain  in  solitude.  As  soon  as  we  become  mem- 


536  CIV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

bers  of  society,  we  cease  to  be  mere  creatures  of  nature.  Nature 
and  morality  have  equal  rights  and  must  form  a  compact  with  each 
other,  and  where  there  are  two  powers  with  equal  rights,  there 
must  be  mutual  concessions. 

Herein  lies  my  sin. 

He  li'Jio  desires  to  live  a  life  of  nature  alone,  must  withdraw 
Jiimself  from  the  protection  of  morality.  I  did  not  fully  desire 
ciMicr  the  one  or  the  other  ;  hence  I  was  crushed  and  shattered. 

My  father  's  last  action  was  right.  He  avenged  the  moral  law, 
which  is  just  as  human  as  the  law  of  nature.  The  animal  world 
knows  neither  father  nor  mother,  so  soon  as  the  young  is  able  to 
take  care  of  itself.  The  human  world  does  know  them  and  must 
hold  them  sacred. 

I  see  it  all  quite  clearly.  My  sufferings  and  my  expiation  are 
deserved.  I  was  a  thief!  I  stole  the  highest  treasures  of  all : 
confidence,  love,  honor,  respect,  splendor. 

How  noble  and  exalted  the  tender  souls  appear  to  themselves 
when  a  poor  rogue  is  sent  to  gaol  for  having  committed  a  theft ! 
But  what  are  all  possessions  which  can  be  carried  away,  when 
compared  with  those  that  are  intangible  ! 

Those  who  are  summoned  to  the  bar  of  justice  are  not  always 
the  basest  of  mankind. 

I  acknowledge  my  sin,  and  my  repentance  is  sincere. 

My  fatal  sin,  the  sin  for  which  I  now  atone,  was  that  I  dissem- 
bled, that  I  denied  and  extenuated  that  which  I  represented  to 
myself  as  a  natural  right.  Against  the  queen,  I  have  sinned  worst 
of  all.  To  me,  she  represents  that  moral  order  which  I  violated 
and  yet  wished  to  enjoy. 

To  you,  oh  queen,  to  you — lovely,  good,  and  deeply  injured  one 
— do  I  confess  all  this  ! 

If  I  die  before  you — and  I  hope  that  I  may — these  pages  are  to 
be  given  to  you. 

* 

We  cannot  take  nature  for  our  only  guide.  He  who  follows  its 
law,  has  no  share,  no  inheritance  in  the  world  of  history.  He 
knows  nothing  of  the  beings  who  lived  before  him,  and  who 
helped  to  make  the  world  what  it  is.  With  him,  the  world  is 
barren  ;  with  him,  it  dies.  He  who  follows  naught  but  nature's 
law  and  persuades  himself  that  he  is  thus  doing  right,  denies 
humanity  and,  at  the  same  time,  denies  that  the  human  race  has  a 
history  which  is  not  represented  by  himself  alone,  but  has  ex- 
isted before  him  and  now  exists  without  him.  In  spite  of  gloss 
and  varnish,  he  who  denies  humanity  is  but  a  savage.  He  stands 
without  the  pale  of  civilization.  All  that  he  does,  or  wears,  or 
enjoys,  of  the  fruits  of  culture,  is  but  a  theft.  He  should  sing 
no  song  but  that  which  is  natural  to  him.  like  the  bird  which  brings 
its  plumage  and  its  song  into  the  world  with  it,  and  has  no  special 
garb  or  tones  ;  for  there  all  is  species,  all  is  the  law  of  nature. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  537 

In  this  alone  lies  the  truth. 

* 

Above  all  right  and  all  duty,  is  love,  leading  lover  and  beloved 
to  the  pure  unfolding  of  their  natures. 

Woe  to  those  who  desecrate  its  divine  mission  ! 

* 

My  father's  fate  is  also  clear  to  me,  now.  He  wished  to  live  for 
and  perfect  himself;  and  yet  he  had  children  whose  love  and  affec- 
tion he  claimed.  His  death  was  one  of  the  terrible  consequences 
of  the  life  he  had  led.  That,  however,  does  not  make  me  inno- 
cent, and  he  dealt  justly  towards  me. 

I  have  no  desire  to  offer  excuses  for  anything  I  have  done.  I 
rm;an  to  be  perfectly  truthful.  That  is  my  only  happiness,  my  only 
pride. 

* 

Your  worth  depends  upon  what  you  are ;  not  upon  what  you 
have. 

* 

I  have  found  the  centre  about  which  my  mind  revolves. 

* 

During  the  last  few- days,  it  has  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  father's 
terrible  punishment  had  never  been  executed,  as  if  it  were  only  the 
guilty  presentiment  of  my  own  imagination. 

What  has  induced  this  sudden  thought  that  will  not  leave  me  ? 

I  know  !  I  know  !  Whatever  may  have  happened  is  now  atoned 
for !  There  can  be  a  renewed  life,  a  deliverance  achieved  by  our- 
selves, and  I  feel  that  this  has  been  vouchsafed  me.  I  am  once 
more  free  !  I  can  return  to  the  world  and  remove  the  bandage 
from  my  brow ! 

To  the  world  !  What  is  the  world  ?  I  have  it  within  me.  I  am 
in  the  world,  and  the  world  is  in  me.  I  am  ! 

* 

I  have  sung  again  for  the  first  time.  Oh,  how  much  good  it 
did  me  !  No  one  heard  me  but  myself. 

No  bird  sings  for  itself;  it  sings  for  its  mate.  Man  alone  can 
sing  and  think  for  himself.  He  alone  possesses  self-consciousness. 

The  calm  of  morn,  which  is  always  so  dear  to  me,  now  seems 
to  last  during  the  whole  day. 

* 

Yonder  brook  often  seems  to  roar  much  more  loudly  than  at 
other  times.  It  is  because  a  sudden  wind  catches  it  and  bears  the 
sound-waves  towards  me. 

* 

(At  work.) — When  the.  material  on  which  we  work  is  hard  and 
unyielding,    we   learn   to   make   a   virtue   of  necessity.      I    often 
chance  upon  changes  in  the  fibre  or  grain  which  necessitate  new 
23* 


538  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

beauties  or  deformities.  I  often  bring  out  touches  which  I  did  not 
intend,  and  those  that  I  did  intend  become  quite  different  from 
what  I  had  expected,  just  because  the  wood  is  master,  as  well  as 
my  hand.  Varnish,  blessed  friend  in  need,  covers  both  beauties 
and  defects. 

* 

We  create  nothing.  We  merely  shape  and  discover  that  which 
already  exists  and  which,  without  our  assistance,  cannot  release 
M self  from  chaos. 

Oh,  I  feel  as  if  I  at  last  understand  the  whole  world  and  all  of 
art  and  work.  I  feel  that  my  longings  for  the  infinite  are  satisfied. 

I  now  know  the  cause  of  the  clashing  between  our  lofty  thoughts 
and  our  lives  of  petty  detail. 

Hansei,  Walpurga,  the  king,  the  queen,  Gunther,  Emma — what 
are  they  all  ?  Mere  drops  in  the  ocean  of  humanity.  When  I 
think  of  myself  as  a  part  of  the  whole,  I  forget  them  all.  That 
destroys  love  for  individuals ;  desire  and  enjoyment  cease,  and, 
with  them,  passion  and  heart-ache. 

And  what  am  I  ?  WThat  still  remains  to  me  ?  We  can  conceive 
the  great  and  complete  w^hole,  while  our  love  can  only  be  for  the 
individual,  for  that  which  is  nearest  to  us.  And  the  nearest  of  all 
is  God,  the  great  idea  of  universal  law. 

Walpurga  is  quite  anxious  about  me.  She  often  comes  to  me, 
and  it  seems  as  if  she  wished  to  say  something.  She  looks  at  me 
so  strangely,  and  yet  says  nothing.  She  tells  me,  again  and  again, 
how  lovely  it  will  be  at  the  shepherd's  hut,  and  how  quiet  and 
happy  I  will  be  up  there.  She  wishes  the  mountains  were  already 
cleared  of  snow.  She  would  like  me  to  be  away  from  here,  and 
says  that  I  would  soon  become  strong.  And  yet  I  do  not  feel  ill. 
but  she  always  says  :  "You  shine  so  !  " 

I  feel  as  if  I  had  settled  my  accounts  with  the  world.     I  am  per 
fectly  calm,  and  it  may  be  that  this  feeling  casts  its  radiance  about 
me.     I  could  no  longer  fear  the  world.     I  could  again  live  among 
human  beings,  for  I  feel  myself  free.     Nothing  more  can  wound 


I  feel  a  desire  for  more  perfect  solitude.  Shall  I  find  greater 
seclusion,  profounder  silence,  up  there  ?  It  seems  as  if  I  were 
ever  hearing  the  words  "lonely  as  death."  (mutterseelenallein). 
Oh,  thou  blessed,  German  tongue  !  WThat  a  blessing  it  is  that, 
without  effort,  I  bear  the  rich  stores  of  my  mother-tongue  within 
me,  and  that,  when  thoughts  gush  forth  from  every  nook  and 
cranny  of  the  brain,  I  have  some  word  vessel  at  command  with 
which  to  receive  the  idea.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  must  be  always 
speaking  and  writing  and  rejoicing  because  of  this  possession. 

I  must  break  off.     Our  most  mysterious,  our  deepest  thoughts, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  539 

are  like  the  bird  on  the  bough.     He  sings,  but,  as  soon  as  he  sees 
an  eye  watching  him,  he  flies  away. 

* 

I  can  now  accurately  tell  the  season  of  the  year  and,  often,  the 
hour  of  the  day,  by  the  way  in  which  the  first  sunbeams  fall  into 
my  room  and  on  my  workbench  in  the  morning.  My  chisel  hangs 
before  me  on  the  wall,  and  is  my  index. 

The  drizzling,  spring  showers  now  fall  on  the  trees — and  thus  it 
is  with  me.  It  seems  as  if  there  were  a  new  delight  in  store  for 
me.  What  can  it  be  ?  I  shall  patiently  wait ! 

* 

A  strange  feeling  comes  over  me,  as  if  I  were  lifted  up  from  the 
chair  on  which  I  am  sitting,  and  were  flying,  I  know  not  whither ! 

What  is  it  ?     I  feel  as  if  dwelling  in  eternity. 

Everything  seems  flying  towards  me  ;  the  sunlight  and  the  sun- 
shine, the  rustling  of  the  forests  and  the  forest  breezes,  beings  of 
all  ages  and  of  all  kinds — all  seem  beautiful  and  rendered  transpa- 
rent by  the  sun's  glow. 

I  am  ! 

I  am  in  God  ! 

If  I  could  only  die  now  and  be  wafted  through  this  joy  to  disso- 
lution and  redemption  ! 

But  I  will  live  on  until  my  hour  comes. 

Come,  thou  dark  hour,  whenever  thou  wilt !  To  me,  thou  art 
light ! 

I  feel  that  there  is  light  within  me.  Oh,  Eternal  Spirit  of  the 
universe,  I  am  one  with  thee  ! 

I  was  dead,  and  I  live — I  shall  die  and  yet  live. 

Everything  has  been  forgiven  and  blotted  out. — There  was  dust 
on  my  wings. — I  soar  aloft  into  the  sun  and  into  infinite  space.  I 
shall  die  singing  from  the  fullness  of  my  soul.  Shall  I  sing ! 

Enough. 

* 

I  know  that  I  shall  again  be  gloomy  and  depressed  and  drag 
along  a  weary  existence,  but  I  have  once  soared  into  infinity  and 
have  felt  a  ray  of  eternity  within  me.  That  I  shall  never  lose  again. 
I  should  like  to  go  to  a  convent,  to  some  quiet,  cloistered  cell, 
where  I  might  know  nothing  of  the  world,  and  could  live  on  within 
myself  until  death  shall  call  me.  But  it  is  not  to  be.  I  am  des- 
tined to  live  on  in  freedom  and  to  labor ;  to  live  with  my  fellow 
Deings  and  to  work  for  them. 

The  results  of  my  handiwork  and  of  my  powers  of  imagination, 
belong  to  you  ;  but  what  I  am  within  myself,  is  mine  alone. 

* 

I  have  taken  leave  of  everything  here  ;  of  my  quiet  room,  of  my 
summer  bench  ;  for  I  know  not  whether  I  shall  ever  return.  And 


540  a\r  THE  HEIGHTS. 

if  I  do,  who  knows  but  what  everything  may  have  become  strange 
to  me  ? 

* 

(Last  page  written  in  pencil.) — It  is  my  wish  that  when  I  am 
dead,  I  may  be  wrapped  in  a  simple,  linen  cloth,  placed  in  a  rough, 
unplaned  coffin,  and  buried  under  the  apple  tree,  on  the  road  that 
leads  to  my  paternal  mansion.  I  desire  that  my  brother  and  other 
relatives  may  be  apprised  of  my  death  at  once,  and  that  they  shall 
not  disturb  my  grave  by  the  wayside. 

No  stone,  no  name,  is  to  mark  my  grave. 


BOOK  VIII. 


CHAPTER   I. 

GUNTHER  received  his  dismissal.    Sated  with  his  experience  of 
the  world,  he  withdrew  from  its  distracting  and  bustling  turmoil. 

Old  and  endearing  associations  made  it  no  easy  matter  for  his 
family  to  transfer  their  affections  to  a  new  home — and  yet  the 
change  was  brought  about  without  impairing  their  unity  of  feeling, 
and  affection.  Those  two  pure  gods,  love  and  science,  followed 
Gunther  beyond  the  mountains  and  his  heart  was  free  from  rancor. 

Their  home  circle  now  was  once  more  perfect.  As  if  returning 
fiom  a  journey  around  the  world,  Gunther  again  found  himself  at 
the  starting-point — for  he  knew  that  he  and  his  would  find  a  free 
and  self-dependent  life  the  source  of  the  most  ennobling  and 
beautiful  influences. 

Naturally  enough,  they  missed  the  presence  of  a  cultured  circle, 
its  refining  influences  and  the  opportunity  it  affords  for  an  inter- 
change of  ideas.  But  he  felt  that  they  would  stand  the  test 
and  would  prove  that  they  could  give  up  all  this  without  greatly 
missing  it.  Immediately  after  his  dismissal,  he  received  a  most 
flattering  offer  of  a  professorship  at  one  of  the  great  universities. 
He  declined  the  proffered  position.  It  had  been  a  long  cherished 
idea  of  his,  to  improve  his  knowledge  of  certain  branches  of  sci- 
ence and  to  complete  certain  scientific  labors,  of  which  he  had  thus 
far  merely  sketched  the  outlines.  It  often  grieved  him  to  think  that 
he  might  quit  the  world,  incomplete  in  himself  and  leaving  much  un- 
finished work  behind  him.  Life  at  court,  with  its  constant  changes 
and  interruptions,  renders  connected  thought  impossible.  To  mount 
guard  every  morning,  in  full  armor  ;  to  be  ready,  at  a  moment's  call, 
to  discuss  even  the  most  important  subject,  in  a  light  conversa- 
tional manner : — such  a  life,  if  persisted  in  for  a  number  of  years, 
will,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  the  contrary,  tend  to  injure  one's 
inner  nature. 

Fortunately  for  Gunther,  scientific  studies  and  home  influences 
always  lent  him  new  vigor.  But  he  was  often  alarmed  lest  he  should 
fritter  away  his  life  and  gradually  lose  his  individuality.  To  a  cer- 
tain extent,  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  be  uniformed  ;  he  even  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  both  necessary  and  pleasing,  since  it  represented 
a  remnant  of  that  mental  and  political  discipline  which  combines 


542  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and  utilizes  individuals  who  were  otherwise  incongruous  and  scat- 
tered. But  at  the  same  time,  Gunther  endeavored  to  prevent  any 
change  in  himself.  He  would  often,  and  with  special  stress,  re- 
mark that  he  who  suffers  any  of  his  essential  traits  to  be  thus 
changed  has  been  subdued  and  killed  by  the  world,  and  has  ceased 
to  exist  as  himself. 

When,  with  each  succeeding  day,  he  presented  himself  at  court, 
he  came,  as  it  were,  from  a  strange  and  distant  sphere.  And  it 
was  this  which  accounted  for  the  severe  and  almost  unbending 
manner,  so  often  observed  in  him.  He  was,  nevertheless,  forbear- 
ing towards  the  superficiality  and  the  mere  desire  to  please,  which 
he  encountered  at  court,  for  he  well  knew  that  where  strength  of 
character  or  depth  of  culture  do  not  feed  the  spring  of  life,  there 
must  needs  be  some  provision  for  every  passing  hour,  and  also  an 
inevitable  tendency  to  make  all  life  centre  about  the  daily  affairs  of 
a  small  and  exclusive  circle. 

Gunther's  so-called  inflexibility  also  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  never 
misplaced  the  centre  of  gravity,  and  thus,  when  the  prop  seemed 
withdrawn,  he  could  yet  stand  his  ground  firmly  and  had  no  need 
to  seek  for  strength  from  without.  And  now,  when  the  sudden, 
but  by  no  means  unexpected,  rupture  took  place,  it  was  easy 
enough  to  lay  aside  the  privy  councilor  and  remain  the  doctor. 
He  had  soon  mastered  ever)7  trace  of  ill-feeling  produced  by  his 
great  and  sudden  fall.  He  regretted  to  leave  his  many  friends  at 
the  capital,  and  the  queen  especially.  He  knew  that  he  could  still 
have  been  of  great  benefit  to  her  ;  "  but  then,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  it 
will  be  far  better  for  her  to  seek  and  gain  strength  from  herself, 
and  without  the  aid  of  others." 

Thus  Gunther  left  the  capital,  and,  in  doing  so,  realized  a  life- 
long wish  to  return  to  his  native  town. 

He  had  almost  attained  his  seventieth  year,  and  looked  upon  the 
remnant  of  life  yet  accorded  him  as  a  peaceful  evening  of  rest — the 
reward  of  a  well-spent  manhood.  He  desired,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  close  his  accounts  with  knowledge,  in  order  that  night  should 
not  overtake  him.  while  so  much  was  as  yet  incomplete. 

Some  years  ago,  Gunther  had  built  a  modest  house  in  his  native 
town,  and  had  intended  it  as  a  summer  retreat  for  his  family,  while 
his  children  were  still  young.  And  now  this  house  was  to  serve  as 
a  resting-place  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Madame  Gunther  and 
the  children  had  cheerfully  taken  leave  of  their  old  associations. 
They  bade  farewell  to  friends  who  were  near  and  dear  to  them. 
But  their  life  lay  in  their  home,  and  this  home,  with  all  its  visible 
and  invisible  treasures,  accompanied  them  to  their  new  abode. 

Gunther's  sister  was  the  only  relative  he  possessed  in  the  little 
Highland  town.  She  was  an  active,  bustling  hostess.  The  father, 
ivho  had  been  a  country  physician,  died  while  Gunther  was  study- 
ing at  the  university.  Wilhelm  had  ever  been  the  idol  of  the  fam- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  543 

ily,  and  the  sister — as  well  as  the  mother,  up  to  the  time  of  her 
death — had  always  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of  daring  and  successful 
navigator.  With  the  assistance  of  her  grown-up  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, the  sister  had  put  their  new  dwelling  to  rights.  Gunther's 
charming  home  soon  became  the  centre  of  attraction  in  the  little 
town,  and  was,  in  its  way,  almost  as  important  as  the  royal  palace 
at  the  capital. 

Esteem  and  gratitude  were  the  invisible  sentries  who  guarded 
the  house.  The  respectful  manner  in  which  visitors  entered  it 
proved  that  naught  but  good-breeding  dare  cross  that  threshold. 

Gunther's  sister,  the  hostess  of  the  Rose,  reaped  new  honors 
and  when,  within  a  short  time  of  each  other,  her  two  sons  and  one 
daughter  became  betrothed,  it  was  deemed  an  inestimable  piece 
of  good  fortune  to  become  connected  with  the  family  of  the  privy 
councilor.  Every  stranger  who  visited  the  town  was  speedily  in- 
formed of  this  eminent  citizen  and  of  his  charming  household. 

A  peaceful  atmosphere  reigned  in  Gunther's  house.  It  seemed 
a  very  temple  of  science  and  beauty.  It  was  difficult  to  decide 
whether  it  was  more  delightful  in  summer  or  in  winter.  In  sum- 
mer there  was,  of  course,  less  chance  to  note  how  familiar  its  in- 
mates were  with  all  that  tends  to  adorn  home  life.  If  the  gardens 
in  the  neighborhood  were"  less  neatly  arranged,  their  seats  less 
comfortable  and  cozy,  the  points  from  which  views  could  be  ob- 
tained less  artistically  chosen — their  hedges  and  trees  were  of  just 
as  bright  a  green  and  the  prospect  just  as  fine.  But  in  winter, 
when  man  adorns  his  home,  and  when  he  has  naught  about  him 
but  the  little  world  which  he  has  himself  shaped  and  arranged,  then 
and  then  only,  can  we  see  what  a  lovely  home  may  be  created  by 
those  whose  light  and  warmth  are  derived  from  themselves. 

If  a  half-frozen  traveler,  descending  from  the  snowy  mountains, 
had  been  at  once  conducted  to  Gunther's  home,  he  would  have 
imagined  that  he  had  landed  upon  an  oasis  of  civilization. 

Salve!  was  the  inscription  over  the  doorway.  Architecturally, 
the  building  was  an  improvement  on  the  usual  country-house. 
The  roof  projected  considerably,  for  it  was  necessary  to  prevent 
the  snow  from  piling  itself  before  the  windows  ;  but  this  protecting 
roof  was  decorated  with  tasteful  carvings.  The  steps  were  covered 
with  winter  plants,  the  walls  were  decorated  with  plaster  copies 
from  the  Parthenon,  the  rooms  were  neatly  arranged,  and  every 
piece  of  furniture  properly  placed.  There  were  also  finely  engraved 
copies  of  the  choicest  paintings  and.  alternating  with  them,  stat- 
uettes of  the  great  men  of  all  ages.  On  every  hand,  there  were 
marble,  plaster,  or  bronze  works  of  art  which  had  been  sent  to  the 
celebrated  physician  by  his  admirers,  and  principally  by  those  of 
the  fair  sex.  Two  stuffed  bears,  which  had  been  sent  to  him  by  a 
Russian  princess  and  served  as  foot-stools,  had  been  quite  the 
talk  of  the  town. 


544  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  rooms  were  never  excessively  warm.  The  temperature  was 
a  comfortable  one.  in  which  men  and  plants  could  thrive.  Large 
leaf-plants  were  placed  at  the  windows  and  in  the  corners  of  the 
room.  There  was  also  a  marble  bust  of  Gunther.  made  by  Irma's 
t.acher,  years  ago.  It  was  standing  on  a  console  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  flowers. 

Gunther  was  famous  as  a  ladies'  doctor  and  was  thus  in  corres- 
pondence with  many  ladies  of  the  higher  classes.  During  the 
summer,  some  of  these  would  occasionally  visit  the  little  town,  for 
the  sake  of  consulting  him,  and  would  sometimes  prolong  their 
stay  beyond  the  time  intended.  The  hostess  of  the  Rose  had 
fitted  up  two  houses  adjoining  her  own,  and  had  put  them  in  charge 
of  two  of  her  children,  subject,  of  course,  to  her  own  careful  super- 
vision. And  here  the  invalid  visitors  dwelt,  while  under  treatment. 
Gunther  gave  a  large  share  of  his  practice  to  a  young  physician 
who  had  married  the  second  daughter  of  his  sister,  but  retained 
the  general  superintendence  in  his  own  hands. 

The  little  town  blessed  its  distinguished  and  beneficent  citizen. 
The  best  of  even-thing  always  found  its  way  to  Gunther's  house. 
Choice  fish,  the  best  game,  early  vegetables,  and  the  finest  fruit 
were  brought  there,  and  Madame  Gunther  was  at  some  trouble  to 
prevent  people  from  overstocking  the  house.  Even  their  servants 
were  held  in  honor.  Since  they  moved  into  the  town,  they  had 
not  once  changed  their  domestics,  who  were  constantly  endeavor- 
ing to  make  themselves  more  useful  and  obliging.  Even  the  dog 
and  the  mule  which  Gunther  had  procured  for  his  mountain  trips, 
were  regarded  with  pleasure  by  the  citizens. 

CHAPTER     II. 

IT  was  in  the  early  spring. 
Madame  Gunther  and  her  two  daughters  were  sitting  by  the 
window  and  working.  A  light-haired  little  girl,  nearly  five  years 
old,  was  playing  on  the  floor,  and  the  three  ladies  often  regarded  it 
with  affectionate  glances.  Aunt  Paula  seemed  to  be  her  favorite, 
and  most  of  the  child's  questions  were  addressed  to  her. 

Change  of  residence  had  made  no  alteration  in  Madame  Gunther. 
She  was  still  as  dignified  and  refined  as  of  yore,  and,  as  her  friends 
at  the  capital  had  been  wont  to  say,  every  dress  she  wore  seemed 
as  if  she  had  put  it  on  for  the  first  time. 

The  professor's  widow  had  grown  somewhat  stouter,  and  Paula, 
who  had  grown  in  height,  was  the  youthful  image  of  her  mother. 

••  May  1  call  grandfather  now?"  'asked  little  Cornelia,  who  no- 
ticed that  the  round  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  had  been  set 
for  the  second  breakfast. 

••  Not  yet,  but  right  soon,"  replied  Paula. 

Gunther  was  still  in  his  Corking-room.     It  was  furnished  simply, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  545 

provided  with  a  small  but  choice  library,  and  embellished  with 
appropriate  bronzes.  Gunther's  dress,  while  at  his  work-table, 
was  as  scrupulously  neat  as  if  he  expected  to  be  summoned  tc 
court  at  any  moment.  He  invariably  rose  at  five  o'clock,  all  the 
year  round,  and  had  done  a  full  day's  work  when  others  were  just 
commencing  the  day.  It  was  only  in  unavoidable  and  exceptional 
cases  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  disturbed  during  the  morning. 
He  wrote  a  great  deal.  It  was  rumored  at  the  capital  that  he 
was  engaged  in  preparing  his  memoirs,  and  he  might,  had  he  cared 
to  do  so,  have  had  much  to  tell ;  for  who  was  so  familiar  as  he  with 
the  secret  history  of  the  last  and  the  present  government  ?  But  he 
felt  it  his  duty  to  write  of  other  matters.  He  endeavored  to  con- 
struct a  science  of  life,  using  the  combined  results  of  the  study  of 
nature  and  practical  knowledge  of  the  world,  as  a  basis.  A  slight 
glow  would  mantle  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  would  involuntarily 
gaze  into  the  far  distance,  when  some  difficult  problem,  which  had 
hitherto  eluded  his  grasp,  became  clear  to  his  mental  vision.  At 
such  moments,  he  would,  as  if  impelled  by  an  inner  force,  rise  from 
his  seat,  and  his  chest  would  heave  with  emotion,  at  the  thought 
that  he  was  laying  bare  the  secret  springs  of  character  and  habit, 
with  as  much  indifference  to  side  considerations  as  if  he  were  en- 
gaged on  a  physiological  preparation. 

The  view  from  Gunther's  windows,  each  of  which  consisted  of 
a  single  plate  of  glass,  extended  to  the  distant  mountains.  Far  up 
the  heights,  there  was  a  small  clearing,  scarcely  visible  to  the  naked 
eye.  Naught  was  noticeable  but  a  small  break  in  the  woods,  and, 
although  it  was  known  that  the  freehold  lay  there,  its  broad  acres 
were  out  of  sight.  Irma  had  been  sitting  up  there,  working  and 
brooding  over  her  troubles,  for  nearly  four  years,  while  Gunther,  in 
the  meanwhile,  had  been  sitting  at  his  oaken  table,  writing  his 
"  Contributions  to  the  Science  of  Life."  His  glance  often  rested 
on  the  distant  heights,  but  he  little  dreamt  that,  while  he  was 
calmly  gathering  the  fruits  of  his  experience,  another  soul  up  there 
was  spending  its  strength  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  solve  the  enigma 
of  life. 

When  he  dwelt  on  the  difficulty  of  assigning  to  nature  and  edu- 
cation their  relative  share  in  determining  conduct  and  character, 
hundreds  of  varied  pictures  would  present  themselves  to  his  imag- 
ination.    In  all  these  investigations,  the  dead  and  the  living  were 
ns  one.     The  only  question  he  asked  himself  was  :  To  what  extent 
o  they  exemplify  the  eternal  idea?     Eberhard's  form  would  often 
ppear  to  him  ;  sometimes,  in  all  the  dewy  freshness  of  youth ;  at 
thers,  in  its  last,  sad  aspect.     Irma  was  also  summoned  by  the 
spirit  of  knowledge  and,  although  never  mentioned  by  name,  was 
made  to  illustrate  the  present  disturbed  state  of  the  public  mind. 
That  day,  many  of  Gunther's  thoughts  had  been  of  Irma. 
There  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.     His  grandchild  entered 


546  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

and  Gunther's  countenance  brightened  at  the  sight  of  her.  For 
hours,  his  thoughts  had  been  of  grand  abstractions,  of  past  mem- 
ories and  of  general  laws,  and  now,  blithe  and  cheerful  childhood 
saluted  him.  He  went  into  the  sitting-room  with  his  grand- 
daughter. 

The  family  seated  themselves  at  the  table.  Letters  and  news- 
papers were  left  untouched  until  after  the  meal  was  finished. 

"Did  Adolph  set  out  punctually?  "  enquired  Gunther. 

He  received  a  full  and  explicit  answer.  Gunther's  son,  who 
owned  the  chemical  works  at  the  capital,  had  been  visiting  his 
parents  for  several  days.  He  had  left  that  morning,  but  Gunther 
had  said  "good-bye,"  the  evening  before.  It  was  a  peculiar,  but 
well-weighed  custom  of  his,  to  avoid  the  excitement  of  the  hour 
of  parting.  They  had  many  visitors,  for  their  house  was,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word,  a  hospitable  one ;  but  Gunther  would 
suffer  nothing  to  disturb  him  during  the  morning  hour. 

It  was  a  merry  breakfast  party.  Paula  remarked  that  spring 
had  surely  come,  for  the  wood-carver,  who  lived  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, had  thrown  his  old  felt  shoes  out  of  the  window,  and  that 
this  was  even  a  surer  token  than  the  coming  of  the  swallows. 

After  breakfast,  Gunther  took  up  his  letters,  carefully  examining 
the  address  and  postmark  of  each,  and  arranging  them  in  the 
order  in  which  they  were  to  be  read. 

The  first  one  he  opened  bore  the  seal  of  the  state  department. 
It  was  from  Bronnen  who,  since  his  elevation  to  the  highest  office 
under  the  government,  had  kept  up  a  regular  correspondence  with 
his  old  friend  Gunther,  and  had,  indeed,  twice  visited  him  in  his 
new  home. 

Gunther's  face  brightened  while  he  read  the  letter.  After  he 
had  finished  it,  he  quietly  laid  it  aside  and  said  : 

"Friend  Bronnen  intends  to  pay  us  a  visit  shortly." 

Paula  turned  away  quickly,  and  bent  down  to  kiss  her  little  niece. 
Although  Gunther  was  still  reading,  her  movement  did  not  escape 
his  notice.  After  he  had  looked  through  the  rest  of  his  letters,  he 
took  up  the  newspapers.  He  was  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  and 
would  now  and  then  ask  Paula  to  read  certain  passages  aloud  to 
him. 

"One  often  wishes,"  said  he,  " — that  is,  I  have  often  heard 
others  express  the  desire — to  be  able,  after  death,  to  look  down 
upon  the  world  again.  It  is  a  mere  phrase,  however,  which  seems 
deep  only  to  those  who  have  not  weighed  it  properly.  All  that  we 
possess,  see,  or  understand,  lies  in  the  world  in  which  we  live  and 
move." 

The  remark  seemed  a  singular  one,  and  Paula  was  about  to 
follow  it  up  with  a  question,  when  a  sign  from  her  mother  hinted 
that  she  had  better  not.  The  idea  had  evidently  separated  itself 
from  a  chain  of  reasoning  which  had  engaged  the  mind  of  the  sol- 
itary philosopher. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  547 

"  You  will  have  to  answer  several  letters  for  me,"  said  Gunthei 
Lo  Paula,  who  acted  as  his  secretary.  "  Come  along  !  " 

He  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  a  special  messenger  ar- 
rived with  a  letter  for  him.  It  was  written  in  blue  ink  and  was  from 
the  queen.  Gunther  opened  it  and  read  as  follows  : 

"     .     .     April  $th. 

"  Your  letter  seems  laden  with  fresh  mountain  breezes.  If  I 
were  not  afraid  lest  you  might  deem  it  inconsistent  with  the  dignity 
of  the  subject,  I  should  request  you  to  give  me  the  summary  of  your 
philosophy  of  life,  in  an  epistolary  form.  What  cannot  be  given  in 
that  way,  has  not  yet  acquired  communicable  shape.  In  a  letter  we 
have  the  effect  of  the  personal  presence  of  the  writer.  And  believe 
me,  for  I  know  of  what  I  speak,  you  cannot  imagine  how  much  your 
ideas  lose  in  impressiveness,  when  you  thus,  as  it  were,  put  them 
away  from  yourself  and  cause  it  to  seem  that  another  might  have 
said  the  self-same  thing.  A  letter  has  a  voice  of  its  own,  and, 
while  I  write,  I  am  reminded  that  your  friend  Horace  wrote  letters 
in  verse  and  that  the  apostles  also  availed  themselves  of  the  epis- 
tolary form. 

"  Your  remark  that  the  myriad  forms  of  life  which  you  have  from 
time  to  time  beheld,  now  throng  about  your  bark  as  if  it  were 
Charon's,  has  made  me  quite  uncomfortable.  I  cannot  imagine 
that  you  are  only  leading  us  into  the  realms  of  darkness.  The 
problem  before  you  is  the  knowledge  of  life.  I  must  have  mis^ 
understood  your  meaning.  I  suppose  that  you  are  treating  each 
group  or  epoch,  as  if  it  were  an  individual  and  that,  with  delicate 
touch,  you  note  its  every  pulsation. 

"  It  is  quite  charming  to  think  that  you  can  even  find  place  for 
my  modest  doings  in  the  grand  march  of  human  development. 
I  am  well  aware  that  my  interest  in  beneficent  institutions  is  epi- 
sodical and  incomplete  ;  and  yet  my  whole  heart  is  enlisted  in  their 
behalf.  And  this  I  owe  to  you.  We  know  how  small  and  imper- 
fect our  life  is,  but  we  must  aim  at  greatness  and  perfection,  and 
can  best  contribute  to  it  by  faithfully  discharging  the  small  duties 
that  lay  near  at  hand.  Working  for  others  "escues  one  from  in- 
trospection, and  thus  expands  the  mind.  When  busied  with  self- 
contemplation,  we  are  apt  to  put  either  too  flattering,  or  too  dis- 
paraging an  estimate  upon  ourselves.  It  is  only  by  what  we  are 
able  to  accomplish  that  we  can  really  measure  our  value.  I  often 
ask  myself  whether  I  should  ever  have  realized  all  this,  if  I  had 
remained  possessed  of  perfect  happiness.  My  bent  lay  in  another 
direction.  I  had  a  taste,  and  perhaps  some  talent,  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  beautiful,  and  aimed  to  adorn  life  with  festivals.  Fate 
has  decreed  otherwise  and  it  is  well.  There  should  be  no  feasting, 
while  there  is  so  much  suffering  to  alleviate.  I  felt  so  happy  while 
wearing  the  one  crown — and  now  I  must  bear  the  other  will 
.ngly. 


548  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  was,  at  first,  pleased  with  your  remark  that  the  lists  of  the 
members  of  beneficent  institutions  are  the  only  true  church  record 
of  modern  times ;  but,  on  second  thought,  I  could  not  help  finding 
that  you  free  thinkers  are  terrorists  as  well.  The  church  has  rights, 
too,  as  long  as  she  is  willing  modestly  to  place  herself  side  by  side 
with  other  educational  and  charitable  institutions,  and  accord  them 
equal  rights  with  herself. 

"  As  patron  of  various  charitable  institutions,  I  have  been  brought 
into  personal  contact  with  ladies  of  the  middle  class,  and  find 
many  of  them  exceptionally  cultured  and  well-bred.  As  you  can 
readily  imagine,  it  cost  quite  an  effort  to  get  some  burgher  names 
to  be  used  for  more  than  mere  show.  Minister  Bronnen  has  been 
of  great  assistance  to  me.  My  corrtmittee  for  the  blind  asylum 

includes  a  charming  Jewess,  Madame ,  who  is  just  as  modest 

as  she  is  firm  and  decided  in  character.     I  think  you  once  men- 
tioned her  to  me. 

"  At  the  last  examination  of  the  blind,  I  was  quite  indignant  at 
the  clergyman,  who  referred  to  their  fate  as  a  wise  dispensation  of 
Providence.  The  only  way  in  which  I  could  show  my  displeasure 
at  this  piece  of  unctuous  barbarism,  was  to  ignore  his  presence. 

"  I  read  much  religious  history,  and  when  I  review  past  ages,  I 
feel  as  if  sitting  by  the  waterfall  which  we  have  so  often  looked  at 
together.  The  stream  flows  unceasingly  and,  though  the  water  is 
ever  changing,  its  source  and  its  channel  are  ever  the  same.  Its 
waves  and  its  eddies  remain  in  the  same  place  ;  the  rocky  masses, 
where  they  were  on  the  day  of  their  creation.  In  time,  the  rocks 
become  covered  with  mosses  and  flowers,  and  in  the  course  of 
many  thousand  years,  new  channels  become  hollowed  out  by  the 
gradual  action  of  the  waters  or  by  some  sudden  convulsion  of 
nature.  Such  is  the  course  of  history.  We  are  mere  drops  flow 
ing  down  the  foaming,  bubbling  stream. 

"  I  observe  that  I  have  left  several  of  your  enquiries  unanswered. 
You  express  a  wish  to  learn  my  views  of  the  various  charitable  in- 
stitutions. But  here  I  experience  both  the  advantages  and  the  dis- 
advantages of  my  position.  I  am  never  quite  sure  whether  my 
visit  has  not  been  announced  in  advance  and  prepared  for.  The 
advantage  of  my  position,  however,  is,  that  the  poor  and  unfortu- 
nate are  rendered  happy  by  my  very  presence,  or  by  a  few  words 
from  me.  Yes,  the  first  duty  of  those  who  are  so  highly  favored, 
is  to  be  kind  to  the  unfortunate.  But  there  is  one  thought  that 
ever  disturbs  me.  It  is  both  right  and  necessary,  and  perhaps  ex- 
pedient, that  these  children  should  be  educated  and  cared  for  in 
common — but  this  method  unfortunately  deprives  them  of  that 
vvhich  most  strengthens  the  young  soul : — solitude. 

"  You  find  that  I  have  become  cheerful,  and  you  hope  that  it  may 
be  something  more  than  a  passing  mood.  I  myself  believe  that 
the  key  note  of  my  inner  life  has  changed  from  a  minor  to  a  major 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  549 

mood,  out  the  great  dissonance  still  remains.  Do  not,  I  beg 
of  yon.  imagine  that  I  encourage  this  feeling.  I  have  a  right  to 
claim  that  the  great  precept :  '  If  thine  eye  offend  thee,  pluck  it 
out,'  expresses  my  inner  nature.  I  understand  it  thus  : — if  there 
be  aught  in  your  desires  and  efforts  which  might  harm  yourself  or 
the  world,  be  unmerciful  towards  yourself,  and,  instead  of  regard- 
ing it  as  an  essential  element  of  your  being,  pluck  it  out. 

"  But,  my  friend,  I  cannot  find  the  offense.  I  must  bear  the  one 
great  sorrow  of  my  life.  How  often  I  long  for  deliverance  !  He, 
too,  suffers,  and  doubly,  because  of  his  guilt.  The  thought  often 
overwhelms  me,  and,  even  now,  while  I  write  these  lines,  I  shudder 
— for  the  shadow  of  death  stands  between  us.  How  can  it  be  ex- 
orcised ?  " 

"April  6th. 

"  I  have  not  yet  thanked  you  for  that  which  is  best  in  your  letter. 
That  you,  too,  are  delighted  with  the  free  and  consistent  changes 
in  the  government,  affords  me  great  comfort.  I  read  much  that  is 
good  about  the  new  rule,  but  I  read  and  heard  just  as  much  in 
praise  of  the  old,  and  there  are  many  who  maintain  that  there  has 
been  no  break,  and  that,  although  the  key  is  changed,  the  tune  is 
still  the  same. 

"  What  makes  human  beings  take  such  a  pride  in  never  chang- 
ing ? 

"  But,  never  mind  ;  as  long  as  the  good  and  the  right  are  brought 
about,  it  matters  not. 

"  Those  who  form  our  immediate  circle  look  upon  the  disbanding 
of  the  guard  as  an  actual  revolution.  I  have  just  begun  to  realize 
that  it  formed  a  privileged  caste,  which,  although  we  scarcely  knew 
of  its  existence,  had  come  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Do  you  remember  my  once  asking  you  whether  there  are 
any  really  happy  beings  on  earth  ?  Your  life  is  the  answer  to  my 
question  and  your  greatest  happiness  lies  in  the  fact  that  you  have 
no  false  part  to  perform,  nothing  which  is  opposed  to  your  judg- 
ment and  convictions. 

"  I  now  see  my  error  in  regarding  your  mode  of  thought  as  the 
philosophy  of  solitude.  You  hold  fast  to  the  harmony  of  life.  But 
I  have  not  yet  rid  myself  of  a  fear  lest  that  which  is  real  should,  as 
it  were,  become  volatilized,  causing  the  living  forms  of  the  vast 
human  multitude  to  disappear.  In  that  case,  the  spirit  alone  would 
remain,  or,  if  I  understand  aright,  would  lose  itself  in  matter,  when 
all  individuality  and  all  participation  in  actual  life  would  cease. 

"  I  cannot  help  interesting  myself  in  individual  inmates  of  these 
institutions.  '  I  can  help  the  cause  as  a  whole,  but  I  can  only  love 
individuals. 

"  I  am  greatly  comforted  by  one  piece  of  information  you  give  me  . 
— that,  in  all  history,  there  is  no  age  that  was  satisfied  with  itself. 
We  fondly  dream  of  a  golden  age,  but  the  golden  age  is  to-day  or 
lever. 


550  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  But  now  as  to  matters  that  concern  us  more  nearly.  You  ask 
me  to  tell  you  of  my  little  Woldemar.  v  do  so  with  pleasure,  but 
must  be  careful  not  to  wean,"  you  with  a  thousand  and  one  of  his 
little  sayings  and  traits.  I  follow  your  advice  and  endeavor  to  in- 
terest myself  in  his  questions,  instead  of  teaching  him  that  which 
he  does  not  care  to  know.  He  is  quite  decided,  both  in  his  likes 
and  dislikes.  I  think  that  this  is  well  and  let  him  have  his  own 
way.  His  disposition  is,  to  a  marked  degree,  that  of  the  king ;  he 
is  quite  fond  of  music.  I  think  it  good  for  him  that  he  was,  liter- 
ally speaking,  sung  to  while  in  his  cradle,  although  the  songs  were 
from  the  lips  of  such  hypocritical  specimens  of  culture  and  sim- 
plicity. Ah,  my  dear  friend,  that  one  sad  memory  still  casts  its 
dark  shadow  over  all  my  thoughts  and  all  that  I  behold." 

"  April  ith. 

"  And  now  this  tiresome  letter  is  nearly  at  an  end.  We  are  com- 
ing to  you  my  dear  friend.  Woldemar  and  I,  I  and  Woldemar. 

"  I  told  Woldemar,  and  he  at  once  added  in  a  decided  tone : 

"  '  But  Schnipp  and  Schnapp  '  (his  two  ponies)  '  must  go,  too.' 

"  To  be  brief — the  king  has  granted  my  request.  For  the  benefit 
of  my  health,  I  may  pay  you  a  visit  of  four  weeks  during  midsum- 
mer and  take  Woldemar  with  me.  Orders  have  already  been 
given,  and  Minister  von  Bronnen  has,  I  understand,  made  all  the 
necessary  arrangements  to  have  the  dairy-farm  in  your  neighbor- 
hood prepared  for  a  small  'suite. 

"  This  year,  we  shall  walk  together,  on  Goethe's  birthday. 

"But  my  letter  is  long  enough  already,  and  I  shall  not  begin 
another  sheet.  If,  as  I  am  willing  to  admit,  you  really  possess  a 
power  over  your  native  mountains,  let  them  be  bright  and  cloud- 
less, while  welcoming  to  you  and  yours,  your  friend, 

"MATHILDE. 

"  Postscript. — Bronnen  has  visited  you.  He  had  much  to  tell 
me,  and  when  I  enquired  about  your  youngest  daughter,  his  fea- 
ures  seemed  to  betray  his  emotion.  Was  I  mistaken  ?  Remem- 
ber me  to  your  wife  and  children.  I  trust  that  the  queen's  pres- 
ence will  not  embarrass  them." 

CHAPTER    III. 

IT  seems  as  if,  even  in  the  quietest  life,  there  are  days  in  which 
the  whole  world  has,  as  it  were,  agreed  that  visits  and  interrup- 
tions should  never  cease. 

Gunther  was  in  his  room  and  had  scarcely  had  time  to  compose 
himself,  after  reading  the  queen's  letter.  It  was  evident,  he  thought, 
that  the  king  designed  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  between 
himself  and  his  consort,  through  the  agency  of  the  dismissed 
friend.  Gunther  was  willing  to  aid  him  in  this,  but  not  to  have 
.he  even  tenor  of  his  life  interfered  with.  The  queen  s  hint  in 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  551 

regard  to  Bronnen  accorded  with  his  own  observations,  and  just 
then  he  could  hear  Paula  singing — for  the  first  time  this  year  by 
the  open  window — and  her  voice  seemed  expressive  of  a  bridal 
mood.  He  felt  that  Paula  deserved  to  be  happy  and  that  her  mar- 
riage with  his  exalted  friend  would  best  promote  the  happiness  of 
both.  But  he  was  firmly  resolved,  even  in  that  event,  never  again 
to  leave  his  birthplace. 

Buried  in  thought,  Gunther  was  sitting  in  his  room. 

The  servant  announced  the  freeholder's  wife. 

"  No — Walpurga  !  "  cried  a  voice,  and  before  the  servant  could 
bring  the  answer,  Walpurga  had  entered  the  room. 

•"  Ah,  dear  Doctor,  you  're  our  neighbor  !  I  heard,  only  a  min- 
ute ago,  that  you  were  living  here,  and  it's  scarcely  four  hours'  walk 
from  our  farm.  Yes,  that 's  the  way  people  live  hereabouts  :  alone 
and  away  from  each  other,  just  as  if  one  were  dead." 

She  offered  her  hand  to  Gunther,  but  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
gathering  up  some  papers,  and  enquired  : 

"  Does  your  mother  still  live  ?  " 

"  Alas !  no.  Oh,  if  she  had  only  lived  to  see  Doctor  Gunther 
once  more  !  Who  knows  whether  she  would  n't  be  living  yet,  if 
we  could  have  called  you  when  she  was  sick." 

Walpurga  wept  at  the  remembrance  of  her  mother.  Gunther 
seated  himself  and  asked  : 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"How?  What?"  asked  Walpurga,  quickly,  drying  her  tears. 
"  And  you  never  once  ask  how  it  fares  with  me  ?  " 

"  You  're  prosperous  and  have  changed  but  little." 

"  May  I  sit  down  ?  "  asked  Walpurga,  in  an  anxious  voice.  This 
cold  reception  from  one  who  had  always  been  so  kind  to  her,  af- 
fected her  so  deeply  that  she  could  scarcely  stand.  She  looked 
about  her  as  if  bewildered,  and  at  last  said  : 

"  And  is  there  nothing  more  you  want  to  ask  me  ?  Where  I  live 
and  how  my  husband  and  children  are?  " 

"Walpurga,"  said  Gunther,  rising  from  his  seat,  "lay  aside  your 
old  acting." 

"  What  ?  acting  ?  I  do  n't  know  what  you  mean  !  What  have 
I  to  do  with  acting?  " 

"  That  does  not  concern  us  now.  Did  you  want  to  ask  me  any- 
thing ?  or  have  you  anything  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  ;  that 's  just  why  I  came." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  seem  so  strange  that  my  thoughts  are  quite 
mixed  up.  Hansei  does  n't  know  that  I  've  come  here,  and  not 
another  soul  in  the  world  is  to  know  about  it  but  yourself.  I  can 
keep  a  secret ;  I  have  kept  one.  I  can  be  trusted." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  physician,  in  a  hard  voice. 

"  You  know  it  ?     How  ?     You  can't  know  it,  and  I  shan't  tell 


552  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

you  all  of  it,  either.     I  might  have  told  you,  but  .after  such  a  re 
ception,  I  can't." 

"  Do  as  you  please  ;  speak  or  be  silent ;  but  cut  it  short,  for  I 
have  very  little  time." 

"  Then  I  'd  rather  come  some  other  time." 

"  I  can  't  receive  you  for  mere  talk.  Tell  me  now  what  you  have 
to  say." 

"Well  then,  Doctor — Oh,  dear  me,  to  think  that  you  do  n't  even 
shake  hands  with  me.  I  can't  get  over  it.  But  I  see,  that  's  the 
way  it  is  with  great  folk ;  it 's  all  the  same — thank  God,  I  know 
where  I  'm  at  home  !  " 

"  Cease  your  empty  talk  !  "  said  Gunther,  interrupting  her  still 
more  sharply.  "  What  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  Can  I  help  you  in 
any  way?  " 

"Me?  Thank  God,  nothing  ails  me.  I  only  wanted  to  say 
that  under-forester  Steingassinger  lives  out  on  the  dairy-farm, 
and  that  his  wife  is  my  friend  and  companion,  Stasi.  Early  last 
winter,  she  told  me  that  the  king  was  coming  here  this  summer, 
and  all  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  if  he  cares  to  pay  me  a  visit  at 
the  freehold,  he  's  quite  welcome.  I  might  have  said  something 
more,  but  I  see  I  'd  better  not.  I  'd  rather  not  break  an  oath." 
Gunther  nodded. 

"  If  the  king  wishes  to  pay  you  a  visit,  I  will  tell  him  what  you 
have  said." 

"  And  is  n't  our  dear,  good  queen  coming,  too  ?  I  Ve  often  been 
kept  awake  at  nights  by  anger  and  sorrow,  when  I  thought  that 
she  does  n't  concern  herself  about  me.  And  she  promised  me  so 
solemnly  that  she  would.  I  can't  understand  how  it  is  ;  but  it  's 
all  right,  I  suppose.  And  how  is  the  little  prince  ?  And  is  it  true 
that  you  are  not  in  favor  and  have  been  dismissed  from  the  court  ? 
And  is  that  why  you  are  living  here  in  this  little  house  ?  " 

Gunther  gave  her  an  evasive  reply,  and  said  that  he  had  other 
matters  to  attend  to. 

Walpurga  arose  from  her  seat,  but  could  not  move  from  the 
spot.  She  could  not  understand  why  she  should  be  treated  thus, 
and  it  was  only  because  she  had  previously  made  up  her  mind  to 
do  so,  that  she'  invited  Gunther  to  visit  her,  and  asked  permission 
to  see  Madame  Gunther  for  a  fewT  moments.  She  hoped  that  she,  at 
least,  would  receive  her  kindly  and  afford  her  some  explanation  of 
the  Doctor's  repellant  manner. 

"Go  to  her,"  replied  Gunther,  turning  away  and  taking  up  a 
book.  Walpurga  left  the  room. 

She  stopped  in  the  passageway  and  asked  herself  whether  she 
was  not  dreaming.  She  who  had  once  been  the  crown  prince's 
nurse  was  now  treated  as" if  they  had  never  known  her.  She,  the 
freeholdei  's  wife — her  pride  rose,  as  she  thought  of  her  vast  home- 
stead— was  sent  a\vay  like  a  beggar. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  553 

She  no  longer  cared  to  speak  with  Madame  Gunther.  Her  lips 
trembled  with  grief  at  the  thought  of  how  wicked  the  great  people 
were.  And  yet  they  could  praise  this  house,  and  she,  too,  had 
once  praised  it,  as  though  none  but  holy  persons  lived  in  it. 

She  left  the  house,  and,  while  walking  through  the  garden,  met 
Madame  Gunther,  who  started  back  when  she  recognized  Wal- 
purga. 

"  Do  n't  you  remember  me?  "  asked  Walpurga,  holding  out  her 
hand  towards  her. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Madame  Gunther,  without  noticing  the  hand 
that  was  offered  her.  "  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  my  farm.  I  'm  the  freeholder's  wife  and  if  you,  Ma- 
dame, had  come  to  me,  I  would  n't  have  let  you  stand  out  of  doors 
in  this  way ;  I  'd  have  asked  you  to  come  inside,  into  my  room." 

"  But  I  do  n't  ask  you,"  replied  Madame  Gunther,  "  I  put  noth- 
ing in  the  way  of  those  who  leave  the  straight  path,  but  I  do  not 
invite  them  into  my  house." 

"  And  when  did  I  leave  the  straight  path  ?     What  have  I  done  ?" 

"  I  am  not  your  judge." 

"Any  one  may  judge  me.  What  have  I  done  ?  You  must  tell  me." 

"  I  must  not ;  but  I  will.  You  will  have  to  answer  to  yourself 
how  all  the  money  was  earned  with  which  you  bought  your  great 
farm.  Good  day  !  " 

She  went  into  the  house. 

Walpurga  stood  there,  alone.  The  houses,  the  mountains,  the 
woods,  the  fields — all  swam  before  her,  and  her  eyes  were  rilled 
with  bitter  tears. 

Gunther  had  been  looking  out  of  the  window,  during  Walpurga's 
interview  with  his  wife,  and,  by  the  manner  of  the  latter,  felt  satis- 
fied that  the  peasant  woman  had  been  told  some  unpleasant  truths. 
He  now  saw  Walpurga  walk  away ;  she  would  stop  now  and  then, 
and  dry  her  tears  with  her  apron.  The  woman  repents,  at  any 
rate,  thought  he  to  himself,  and  she  's  only  another  proof  of  the 
far-reaching  and  all-corroding  effects  of  evil. 

It  was  long  before  Gunther  could  be  made  to  believe  that  Wal- 
purga had  received  a  large  sum  of  money  in  return  for  wicked 
services,  but  it  had  been  judicially  proven  that  the  farm  had  been 
paid  for  in  new  coin,  such  as  only  passes  through  princely  hands. 
And  just  because  Gunther  had  believed  in  Walpurga's  simple  true- 
heartedness,  and  had  staked  his  word  upon  it,  he  was  all  the  more 
embittered  against  her. 

He  was  resolved  to  clear  up  the  matter  as  soon  as  the  oppor 
tunity  offered. 


24 


554  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER     IV. 

PROUD  and  happy  as  Walpurga  had  been   when  she  left  home 
in  the  morning,  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  she  returned 
at  evening. 

She  might  well  be  proud,  for  no  farmer's  wife  could  present  a 
better  appearance.  Franz,  the  late  cuirassier,  had  broken  in  the 
foal.  It  was  harnessed  to  the  little  Bernese  wagon  and  looked 
around  as  if  pleased  when  Walpurga  came  out,  dressed  in  her 
Sunday  clothes  and  accompanied  by  Burgei.  Hansei  helped  his 
wife  into  the  wagon  and  then  gave  her  the  child. 

"Come  back  safe  and  sound,"  said  he,  "and  Franz,  take  care 
of  the  horse." 

"  Never  fear  !  "  was  Franz's  answer,  and  the  horse  started  off  at 
a  lively  gait,  as  if  it  were  mere  child's  play  to  draw  such  a  load. 

Hansei  stood  looking  after  his  wife  and  child  for  awhile  and  then 
turned  about  and  went  off  to  his  work.  He  only  nodded  to  Irma, 
who  was  looking  out  of  her  window,  and  waving  a  farewell  to 
Walpurga. 

heart,  as  if  to  re- 


/alpurga. 

Walpurga  rode  off,  holding  her  hand  to  her 
•ess  the  joy  with  which  it  was  overflowing. 


press 

What  was  there  better  in  the  world  than  a  well-arranged  house- 
hold, like  the  one  she  \vas  just  leaving,  and  to  feel,  moreover,  that 
the  people  she  met  would  know  that  she  was  well-to-do  in  the 
world  ?  But  Walpurga  was  proud  of  something  else  which  the 
people  could  not  see. 

She  had,  with  yreat  circumspection,  arranged  quite  a  difficult 
affair. — On  the  following  morning,  Irma  was  to  go  to  the  shep- 
herd's hut,  and  all  danger  of  discovery  would  be  averted.  It  is 
no  trifling  matter  to  keep  such  a  secret  a  whole  winter,  for  Irma 
had  judged  rightly.  Walpurga  encouraged  Irma's  plan  of  spend- 
ing the  entire  summer  in  deeper  solitude.  Stasi,  whose  husband 
had  heard  it  from  the  chief  forester,  told  her  that  the  king  intended 
to  visit  the  neighboring  village  during  the  following  summer.  She 
feared  for  Irma,  and  now  her  fears  had  taken  a  still  more  decided 
shape.  Stasi 's  husband  had  been  removed  to  the  dairy-farm  and 
had  been  ordered  to  arrange  the  forest  paths  and  drives,  prepara- 
tory to  the  king's  arrival. 

Hansei  was  quite  willing  that  his  wife,  instead  of  going  to  the 
neighboring  village,  should  go  to  a  more  distant  town,  in  order  to 
purchase  the  articles  of  use  and  comfort  which  it  would  be  neces- 
sary for  Gundel  and  Irma  to  take  with  them  to  the  shepherd's  hut. 
This  afforded  her  an  opportunity  to  fulfill  her  promise  to  visit  Stasi 
in  her  new  home.  He  even  consented  that  Burgei  should  go  along. 
And  thus  Walpurga  drove  off,  her  heart  full  of  happiness,  and  with 
a  kindly  smile  of  greeting  for  all  whom  she  met  on  the  road. 

"  I  only  wish,"  said  Franz,  "that  we  could  drive  along  the  lake, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  555 

and  by  our  old  village,  for  we  all  came  from  there  ;  you  and  I,  Bur- 
gei  and  the  horse." 

Franz  had  bestowed  especial  care  upon  his  appearance.  His 
face  beamed  with  joy,  for  he,  too,  cherished  a  secret  thought.  He 
intended  to  buy  a  silver  ring  to  place  on  Gundel's  finger,  before 
she  went  to  the  shepherd's  hut. 

"Be  careful  of  that  horse,"  replied  Walpurga.  "He  's  so  very 
young.  What  a  fine  day  it  is.  The  cherries  down  here  are  n't  in 
blossom  yet,  and  the  sapling  we  brought  from  home  is  blossoming 
to-day,  for  the  first  time.  Did  n't  you  see  it  ?  " 

"No." 

They  drove  on  in  silence. 

When  they  drew  near  to  the  village  in  which  Stasi  lived,  Franz, 
who  drove  about  the  country  a  good  deal,  said  : 

"  This  pretty  brook  flows  from  up  near  our  new  meadow.  It 
comes  out  of  the  rocks  scarcely  a  rifle-shot  from  there." 

Walpurga  smiled  at  the  thought  that  a  stream  that  flowed  far 
through  the  country,  had  its  source  on  her  own  land.  Yes,  no  one 
knows  what  fortune  may  have  in  store  for  him. 

Stasi  was  delighted  at  Walpurga's  arrival,  and  was  lavish  in  her 
praise  of  all  that  belonged  to  her  friend.  She  declared  that  the 
king  himself  had  not  a  finer  horse,  a  better  behaved  servant,  a 
lovelier  child  or  a  better  wife,  than  Hansei  had.  Wherever  she  took 
Walpurga,  the  laborers  who  were  clearing  the  roads,  or  building 
bridges,  would  stop  for  awhile  to  look  at  the  farmer's  handsome 
wife  and  the  child  who,  both  in  dress  and  feature,  was  the  very 
picture  of  her  mother. 

Stasi  prepared  an  excellent  meal.  Walpurga  had  brought,  as  a 
gift,  enough  butter  and  eggs  to  last  for  a  great  while.  In  the  new 
inspector's  dwelling,  as  great  honor  was  shown  Walpurga  as  if  she 
were  the  queen  herself. 

At  last,  Walpurga  set  about  making  her  purchases,  and  showed 
that  she  was  sensible  and  aware  of  what  her  position  required. 
She  always  bought  the  best  of  everything  and  did  not  higgle  long 
about  the  price. 

They  had  returned  to  the  dairy-farm,  and  Walpurga  was  on  the 
point  of  confiding  a  portion  of  her  secret  to  Stasi,  so  as  to  put  her 
on  her  guard  as  to  the  king,  when  she  heard  of  the  distinguished 
man  who,  for  nearly  four  years  past,  had  been  living  in  the  little 
town. 

"  Dear  me  !  why  he  's  the  best  friend  I  have  !  "  said  Walpurga. 
She  handed  the  child  to  Stasi  and  hurried  off  to  Gunther's  house. 
She  felt  as  if  her  heart  would  burst  with  joy,  and  was  obliged  to 
sit  down  before  the  house,  for  awhile,  to  get  her  breath. 

But  while  she  walked  back  to  the  farm,  she  did  not  once  raise 
her  eyes  from  the  ground.  She  could  not.  And  what  annoyed 
her  most  of  all  was  that  she  had  told  Stasi :  "  He  's  the  best  friend 
I  have." 


556  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

They  expected  her  to  tell  about  her  visit,  but  all  she  could  say 
\vas : 

"Do  n't  ask  me  to  tell  you  what  great  folks  are.  If  I  were  to 
begin  I  could  n't  get  through  before  to-morrow,  and  I  *ve  got  to 
go,  or  it  '11  be  dark  before  we  get  home." 

"\Valpurga  became  quieter  and  sadder,  the  more  Stasi  and  her 
husband  praised  Doctor  Gunther.  She  dared  not  tell  what  had 
happened  to  her.  This  is  all  you  get,  thought  she,  if  you  depend 
on  the  respect  which  others  are  to  show  you.  Long  after  she  had 
left  them,  Stasi  and  her  husband  spoke  of  how  strange  and 
changeable  Walpurga  was.  But  she  was  glad  that  she  was  no 
longer  obliged  to  look  any  one  in  the  face.  And  now,  at  this  late 
day,  she  was  reminded  of  something  that  she  had  long  since  for- 
gotten. "Oh,  dear  mother!  "  said  she  aloud  to  herself.  "You 
were  right.  Everything  in  this  world  must  be  paid  for,  and  now 
the  gold  is  to  be  paid  for — but  how  ?  " 

She  seated  her  child  upon  her  lap  as  though  it  was  all  that  was 
left  to  her.  She  hugged  and  kissed  it  and,  at  last,  it  fell  asleep, 
resting  upon  her  heart.  She  grew  calmer,  although  she  keenly  felt 
the  wrong  that  had  been  done  her  and  wondered  what  might  yet 
be  in  store  for  her.  When,  while  in  her  old  home,  the  envy  and 
enmity  of  the  villagers  had  annoyed  her,  she  could  easily  console 
herself  with  the  fact  that  they  were  simple,  ignorant  people  ;  but 
what  could  she  say  now  ?  Was  she  to  experience  her  old  troubles 
over  again  ?  And  there  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  confide 
them  ;  her  mother  was  gone  ;  she  could  not  tell  Hansei  and,  least 
of  all,  Irmgard. 

It  was  twilight  when  she  at  last  caught  a  glimpse  of  home. 
Mustering  up  all  her  courage,  she  said  to  herself: 

"  The  best  thing  I  can  do,  is  to  let  suspicion  rest  on  me  until  I 
die,  or  till  she  dies  ;  for  then  no  one  will  come  near  us,  and  I  need  n't 
have  any  fear  for  my  dear  Irma,  who  has  far  more  to  bear  than  I 
have.  Thank  God,  I  did  n't  betray  my  secret ;  and  how  lucky  it 
is.  she  's  now  going  up  into  the  wilds  where  no  one  will  find  her." 

f  ull  of  courage,  she  went  into  the  house  and  told  Hansei  of  her 
visit  to  Stasi,  but  nothing  more. 

"  I  have  borne  it  alone,  thus  far,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  I  '11  do 
so.  hereafter." 

With  great  self-command,  she  assumed  a  cheerful  air  while 
with  Hansei  and  Irma,  and  romped  with  her  boy,  for  whom  she 
had  bought  a  little  wooden  horse. 

CHAPTER     V. 

n^HE  evening  of  preparation  was  an  unquiet  one.     Hansei,  who 

1     had  much  to  do,  would  again  and  again  busy  himself  with  the 

cow-bells,  the  tones  of  which  pleased  him  greatly.     He  had  pur- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  557 

chased  a  well-tuned  set  and  Irma  had  praised  them,  when  he 
showed  them  to  her. 

They  went  to  bed  early,  for,  on  the  next  morning,  they  would 
have  to  rise  long  before  daybreak. 

Hansei,  who  had  been  asleep  for  some  time,  awoke  and  heard 
Walpurga  crying  and  sobbing. 

"  For  God's  sake  !  what 's  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh,  if  mother  were  only  living  !  "  said  Walpurga.  "  If  I  only 
still  had  my  mother  !  " 

"  Do  n't  act  so.     Do  n't  cry,  now ;  it's  sinful !  " 

"What?     A  sin  to  mourn  for  my  mother?" 

"  It  all  depends  on  how  you  mourn.  I  Ve  often  heard  it  said 
that,  so  long  as  grass  has  n't  grown  over  the  grave,  you  may  weep 
for  the  dead  without  doing  harm  to  them  or  the  living.  After 
that,  there  should  be  no  more  weeping  for  the  dead  ;  for,  as  the  old 
proverb  says  :  '  It  wets  their  clothes  in  the  other  world.'  Do  n't  fall 
into  sinful  ways,  Walpurga.  Your  mother  lived  out  her  time,  and 
thus  it  is  in  the  world.  Parents  must  die  before  their  children,  and, 
although  I  trust  that  our  children  won't  forget  us  when  we  're  gone, 
I  hope  they  '11  be  able  to  think  of  us  without  weeping.  But  now — 
Why  do  you  let  me  talk  so  much  ?  Am  I  right,  or  wrong  ?  What 
makes  you  so  silent  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  it 's  all  right.  But  do  n't,  I  beg  of  you,  ask  me  any- 
thing more  now.  My  head  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  thoughts.  Good 
night." 

"Good  night,  and  don't  forget  to  say  'good  night'  to  your  idle 
thoughts." 

A  fleeting  smile  passed  over  Walpurga's  face  at  Hansei's  kind 
words,  but  in  the  next  moment  she  was  again  a  prey  to  sad  despair 
and  a  feeling  of  utter  loneliness.  She  had  wept  for  her  mother, 
because  she  alone  could  have  shared  Irma's  secret  with  her ;  but 
now,  when  a  new  and  crushing  burden  oppressed  her,  there  was 
no  living  one  who  could  help  her. 

She  suddenly  recalled  the  evening  when  she  had  stood  in  the 
palace  yard,  feeling  as  if  she  had  been  transported  into  the  heart 
of  the  enchanted  mountain,  and  awed  by  the  dimly  lighted  statues 
that  seemed  to  be  staring  at  her.  She  had  come  away,  bringing 
golden  treasure  with  her  ;  but  what  had  clung  to  it  ?  Resentment 
at  the  injustice  she  had  experienced  gnawed  at  her  heart.  "  That 's 
the  way  with  the  great  folk,"  she  muttered,  between  her  teeth. 
"  They  condemn  without  a  hearing.  I  could  justify  myself,  but  I 
won't  do  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  rather  Irmgard  would  n't  move  out  to  the  hut  ?  " 
asked  Hansei,  after  a  while. 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  asleep,  long  ago,"  answered  Wal- 
purga. "Good  night,  again." 

She  asked  herself  how  it  would  be  if  Hansei  were  to  learn  what 


•553  CLV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

was  said  of  her.  How  would  he  bear  it  ?  And  was  n't  it  wonder- 
ful that,  thus  far,  nothing  had  been  heard  of  it? 

All  her  pride  in  the  good  opinion  of  others  suddenly  turned  into 
shame.  The  peculiar  gift  she  possessed  of  imagining' what  people 
were  saying  and  thinking,  again  tormented  her,  and  everything 
seemed  confused,  as  if  a  half-waking  dream. 

She  determined  to  lighten  her  heart  by  pouring  out  her  woes  tc 
Irma.  She  sat  up  in  bed  and  felt  for  her  clothes,  but  she  quickly 
checked  the  impulse.  How  could  she  inflict  this  on  the  penitent? 
Irma  had  sufficient  strength  of  mind  to  renounce  everything,  and 
even  to  let  the  world  regard  her  as  dead.  How  trifling  was  Wal- 
purga's  trouble  in  comparison  with  hers  ! — And  was  not  the  queen 
also  an  innocent  sufferer?  Was  not  one  obliged  to  suffer  for 
another,  all  the  world  through  ? 

She  felt  as  if  suddenly  endo\ved  with  a  strength  she  had  never 
before  known.  She  was  willing  to  surfer  for  Irma,  and  even  to 
sacrifice  her  own  good  name,  for  the  sake  of  protecting  the  penitent. 

She  thanked  fate  that  Doctor  Gunther  had  treated  her  unkindly. 
How  would  it  have  been  if  a  friendly  reception  on  his  part  had 
induced  her  to  betray  a  portion  of  her  secret  ? 

The  elements  that  mingled  in  YValpurga's  character  were  now 
in  agitation,  now  in  repose ;  the  quiet  life  at  home,  the  unquiet 
one  at  court,  vanity,  honor,  humility,  a  desire  to  appear  of  conse- 
quence— all  these  were  in  a  constant  ferment.  But  at  last  all  was 
clear. 

"What  have  you  done  for  Irma,  after  all?"  she  asked  herself. 
"Nothing;  you  've  only  let  her  live  with  you." 

For  Irma's  sake,  she  was  willing  to  submit  to  disgrace. 

"  It  is  n't  what  people  think  of  you,  but  what  you  really  are, 
that 's  most  important,"  thought  she  to  herself,  and  breathed  freely 
once  more. 

When  she,  at  last,  calmly  rested  her  head  on  her  pillow,  she  felt 
as  if  her  mother's  hand  were  stroking  her  brow. 

CHAPTER     VI. 

IT  was  a  mild  spring  night. 
Irma  was  sitting  by  the  spring  and  looking  up  at  the  starry 
heavens.  She  felt  strangely  at  the  thought  of  again  wandering 
forih,  for  on  the  following  morning  she  was  to  start  for  the  shep- 
herd's hut,  there  to  spend  the  summer.  How  would  it  be  with  her 
when  she  again  sat  here  in  the  night,  listening  to  the  stream 
rushing  by? 

At  that  moment  she  heard  whispering.  It  seemed  to  come  from 
the  dark  stable,  the  door  of  which  was  open. 

"  Yes,  Gundel ;  our  mistress  is  just  as  changeable  as  April 
weather.  On  the  way  from  home,  she  was  as  jolly  as  she  could  be, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  559 

and  on  the  way  back,  she  was  just  as  glum  as  if  she  'd  been  beaten. 
She  went  to  see  the  great  doctor.  Something  must  have  happened 
to  her.  But  what  does  she  matter  to  us,  after  all  ?  She  bought 
pots  and  pans,  but  I  got  something  better.  Let 's  have  your  hand. 
There  !  I  put  this  little  silver  ring  on  your  finger  and  make  you 
fast  to  me,  in  soul  and  body,  for  life.  Now  you  may  go  wherever 
you  choose  ;  you  're  mine,  all  the  same." 

Hearty  kisses  were  heard,  and  Gundel  at  last  said  : 

"  But  you  '11  come  up  to  the  meadow  to  see  us,  once  in  a  while, 
won't  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will !  "  And  then  there  was  more  soft  and  unin- 
telligible whispering. 

"  Why,  just  look  !  "  said  Franz,  suddenly  ;  "there  's 'cousin  Irm- 
gard,  and  she  's  heard  every  word  of  what  we  've  said." 

"That's  no  harm;  she  knows  all  about  it,  and  so  I  '11  have 
something  to  talk  with  her  about,  all  summer.  Come,  let 's  go  to 
her.  You  '11  see  how  kind  she  is." 

They  went  to  Irma. 

She  took  them  both  by  the  hand  and  said : 

"  Let  your  love  be  as  pure,  as  fresh,  as  inexhaustible  as  this 
spring."  She  dipped  her  hand  into  the  spring,  which  glittered  in 
the  moonlight,  and  sprinkled  the  two  lovers  with  water. 

"That 's  as  good  as  if  it  came  out  of  a  holy-water  pot,"  cried 
Franz.  "  Now  everything  will  be  all  right.  I  've  no  fear.  You, 
spring,  and  you,  elder  tree,  are  witnesses  that  we  both  belong  to- 
gether, and  will  never  leave  each  other.  Good  night." 

Franz  went  back  into  the  stable  and  closed  the  door.  Gundel 
accompanied  Irma  to  her  room  and  slept  on  the  bench,  for  her 
father,  the  little  pitchman,  had  already  gone  before  them  to  the 
shepherd  's  hut  and  had  taken  her  bed  and  various  household  ar- 
ticles with  him. 

It  was  long  before  Irma  fell  asleep.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
help  living  over,  in  anticipation,  the  many  days  and  nights  she  was 
to  spend  upon  the  mountain.  She  was  restless,  and  lay  there  think- 
ing, until  at  last  her  thoughts  became  confused  and  bewildered. 

At  last,  she  asked  in  a  soft  voice  : 

"  Gundel,  are  you  still  awake?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  and  I  'm  sure  Franz  is  awake,  too.  He  is  n't  as  well 
off  as  I  am,  and  has  no  one  to  talk  to  as  I  have.  Oh,  how  thank- 
ful I  am  to  you  !  I  '11  make  things  as  pleasant  and  as  comfortable 
for  you  as  I  can.  Oh,  what  a  good,  honest  soul  Franz  is.  Do  you 
hear  the  cows  lowing  ?  They  can't  rest,  either.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
already  hear  the  bells  that  they  're  going  to  wear  to-morrow,  and  I 
think  they  must  know  all  about  it,  too.  Oh,  Irmgard,  if  you  only 
had  a  sweetheart,  too.  I  know  how  it  will  be  with  you.  It  '11  be 
just  as  it  says  in  the  story — and  you  deserve  it,  too.  There  was 
once  upon  a  time  a  king  who  rode  through  the  forest  and  found  a 


560  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

beautiful  girl  tending  the  flocks ;  and  he  put  her  on  his  horse,  took 
her  home  with  him,  gave  her  clothes  of  gold,  and  put  a  diamond 
crown  upon  her  head.  And  then  the  queen — O  the  bells,  the 
queen — come,  White-spot,  the  bells— come,  come,  come — and 


Gundel  slept,  but  Irma  lay  awake  and  looked  out  into  the  moon- 
light. The  whole  world  seemed  a  marvel,  and  vague  fairy  pictures 
rilled  her  mind.  She  smiled,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  until  they  were 
at  last  closed  in  sleep.  But  the  smile  rested  on  her  features,  al- 
though there  was  none  to  see  it,  save  the  moon,  calmly  looking 
down  from  on  high. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

WE  often  experience  sadness  and  hesitancy  in  carrying  out  pro- 
jects which  have  been  wisely  conceived  and  hopefully  deter- 
mined on.  And  thus  it  proved  when  the  time  came  to  set  out  for 
the  shepherd's  hut. 

It  was  before  daybreak.  Irma  stood  at  the  open  hearth  in  Wal- 
purga's  room,  and  shivered  with  the  cold. 

Although  Irma  had  overcome  all  longings  since  her  return  from 
her  short  visit  to  the  world,  a  new  and  deep  feeling  of  homeless- 
ness  had  come  over  her,  just  as  if  this  was  the  first  day  of  her  soli- 
tude. She  often  looked  about  her,  as  if  she  saw  a  figure  approach- 
ing with  a  light  bundle  under  its  arm — and  that  figure  was  herself, 
but  oh  !  how  changed.  She  scarcely  felt  a  desire  for  food  or 
drink ;  nor  did  she  care  to  speak.  She  lived  entirely  in  and  from 
herself.  But,  although  silent,  she  was  cheerful  and  kind  towards 
every  one. 

The  little  pitchman  was  the  first  to  note  this  change,  and  he  was 
of  the  opinion  that  a  summer  spent  on  the  mountain  meadows 
would  prove  of  great  benefit  to  Irma,  for  he  maintained  that  she 
was  ill,  although  she  always  seemed  well  and  was  ever  at  work. 

If  everything  had  been  specially  arranged,  Walpurga's  purpose 
could  not  have  been  better  served.  Irma's  wishes  and  the  uncle's 
advice  were  in  accord.  Besides  this,  there  was  danger  of  discov- 
ery, on  account  of  the  king's  visit  to  the  neighboring  village,  and 
wnatever  danger  lay  in  this,  Walpurga  meant  to  avert  from  Irma. 

The  morning  found  Walpurga  gay  and  cheerful,  as  if  after  a 
hardly  won  victory.  Her  eyes  often  rested  on  Irma  who  was  look- 
ing fixedly  at  the  open  hearth-fire. 

"You  '11  see,"  said  she  to  her,  "  you  '11  be  quite  a  different  being 
up  there.  I  can  hear  you  singing  already,  and  then  we  '11  sing  to- 
gether again." 

She  went  on  humming  to  herself  the  air 

Oh !  blissful  is  the  tender  tie 
That  binds  me,  love,  to  thee. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  561 

But  Irma  did  not  join  in  the  song. 

"  I  shall  support  life  as  long  as  it  supports  me,"  said  Irma,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself,  and  holding  her  hands  before  the  fire. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  two  women,  who  were  thus  standing 
quietly  by  the  hearth,  were  called  away  to  the  stable  outside. 
Everything  was  in  readiness.  The  little  pitchman,  who  was  con- 
versant with  all  such  mysteries,  had,  on  the  previous  day,  arranged 
everything  so  that  the  cattle  might  be  well  and  hearty  in  their  new 
abode.  He  had  brought  a  clod  of  earth  and  three  ants  from  the 
meadow,  and  had  mixed  the  earth  with  some  sweet-scented  clover, 
St.  Johnswort,  lavender  and  salt,  into  which  mixture  he  dropped 
some  oil  of  tar,  and  this  wras  the  last  food  given  the  cattle.  The 
little  pitchman  had  returned  from  the  meadow  during  the  night 
and,  although  he  had  not  been  asked  to  do  so,  had  prepared  the 
mysterious  fodder  in  order  to  oblige  Hansei,  who  was  not  yet  quite 
familiar  with  the  ways  of  this  section  of  the  country. 

Now  that  the  cattle  had  swallowed  the  magic  potion,  they  were 
protected  against  all  witchcraft  and  sickness,  and  would  be  as 
much  at  home  on  the  meadows  as  if  they  had-  been  born  there. 
And  now  that  day  began  to  dawn,  the  cows  became  unmanagea- 
ble. Peter  sprinkled  every  one  of  them  with  holy  water ;  but 
in  spite  of  charms  and  holy  water,  these  tame,  domestic  creat- 
ures seemed  to  have  been  converted  into  wild  beasts.  All  was 
confusion  within  the  enclosure  that  confined  them,  the  cows  were 
bellowing  and  running  about  wildly,  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  din, 
was  heard  the  shouting  of  the  cowboys.  The  little  pitchman  bade 
them  let  the  cows  have  their  own  way  and  at  last  they  were  quiet. 
Gundel  put  the  wreath  on  the  horns  of  the  large  brown  bell-cow, 
and  fastened  the  leader's  bell  around  her  neck.  The  other  cows 
were  also  provided  with  bells.  And  now  the  leader  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  rest  of  the  herd,  who  glared  at  her  furiously ;  but 
she  seemed  so  proud  and  scornful  that  none  ventured  to  challenge 
her. 

"  And  now  let 's  be  off,  for  God's  sake  !  "  cried  the  little  pitch- 
man, opening  the  gate.  The  procession  started.  Franz  came  last 
of  all,  holding  the  powerful  red  bull  by  its  strong  short  horns  and 
dragged  by,  rather  than  leading  it.  As  soon  as  the  bull  was  out 
of  the  stable,  he  stood  still  and  looked  about  him  with  quite  a  dan- 
gerous air,  and  then,  tossing  up  his  head,  stepped  off  alone,  in 
quite  a  dignified  manner.  But  as  soon  as  he  was  outside  of  the 
gate,  he  bellowed  loudly. 

Although  everything  had  been  quietly  arranged,  there  was  yet 
hurrying  at  the  end.  Walpurga  and  Hansei  accompanied  Irma 
for  a  part  of  the  way. 

Irma  was  silent.     Her  step  was  firm,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  her 
is  if  her  will  had  nothing  to  do  with  this,  and  as  if  she  were  urged 
imward  by  another. 
24* 


562  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"You  look  more  cheerful  already,"  said  Hansei  to  Irma. 

A  nod  was  her  only  reply. 

They  soon  overtook  the  herd  which  had  gone  ahead.  The 
herdsman  had  waited  for  them,  for  it  would  not  do  to  drive  the 
cattle  through  the  village  unless  the  sennerin  *  were  with  them. 

They  might  have  taken  the  other  road.  It  lay  back  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  was  somewhat  shorter ;  but  why  should  they  not  foi 
once  show  themselves  and  their  herds  before  they  went  into  soli- 
tude? And  so  the  cattle  with  their  beautiful  bells  were  driven 
through  the  village,  while  cheers  and  hurrahs  resounded  from  all 
sides. 

When  they  ascended  the  mountain  on  the  other  side  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  struck  the  forest  road  which  Hansei  had  cut,  he  could 
not  refrain  from  calling  Irma's  attention  to  what  he  had  accom- 
plished. 

In  the  heart  of  the  forest,  where  the  royal  arms  were  carved  on 
the  boundary-stone — for  it  was  here  that  the  royal  preserves  be- 
gan— Hansei  took  leave  of  Irma.  Walpurga,  who  had  also  said 
"good  bye,"  still  accompanied  her  for  a  short  distance.  There 
was  so  much  that  she  wanted  to  tell  Irma,  and  yet  all  she  could 
say  was  :  "  Do  n't  be  afraid  ;  I  '11  come  to  see  you  next  Sun- 
day. If  you  find  it  lonesome,  come  back  to  us  again.  Nobody 
forces  you  to  stay  up  here  ;  but  if  you  can  stay,  you  '11  find  it  '11  do 
you  good." 

Walpurga,  whose  heart  was  oppressed  with  her  secret,  bade 
Irma  a  hurried  farewell  and  left  her. 

Hansei  was  sitting  on  the  bound ary-stone,  waiting  for  his  wife. 
After  she  had  joined  him,  they  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"It  often  seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  all  a  dream,"  said  he,  at  last. 
"  We  've  been  here  four  years,  this  coming  autumn,  and  she  's 
been  with  us  all  the  time.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  like  her, 
and  still  I  do  n't  know  her;  that  is,  I  do  know  her,  so  to  say,  but  I 
do  n't  know  her  after  all." 

"Stop  a  minute,  Hansei,"  said  Walpurga. 

He  stood  still.  All  was  silent  in  the  woods.  A  thick  mist  had 
veiled  the  mountains,  and  the  birds  were  mute.  The  only  sound 
that  broke  upon  the  ear  was  that  of  the  bells  of  the  distant  herd 
ascending  the  mountain.  Walpurga  drew  a  long  breath. 

••  Hansei,"  said  she,  at  last,  "  you  've  stood  a  hard  test.  I  never 
would  have  believed  that  any  man  could  have  done  what  you  have. 
And  now  I  think  I  must  open  the  door  to  you,  at  last." 

"Stop  !  "  said  Hansei,  interrupting  her,  "not  so  fast.  Did  she 
tell  you  to  do  so,  of  her  own  accord  ?  Say  '  yes '  or  '  no '." 

"No." 

*  "He  who  goes  up  with  the  cattle  into  the  mountains,  during  the  good  season,  is  a 
S«nn.'      In  Switzerland,  this  is  done  by  men;  in  the  Eastern  Alps,  in  the  Bavarian 
highlands,  and  in  Austria,  generally  by  women — the  'Sennerin,'  '  Almerin.'  " 

BERLEPSCH.) 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  563 

"  Then  I  do  n't  want  to  know  anything  about  her.  You  hold 
her  secret  in  trust,  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  touch  it.  Of  course, 
to  be  honest  with  you,  it  has  often  puzzled  me  terribk/.  There  's 
only  one  thing  I  want  to  know :  I  'm  sure  she  has  n't  injured  any  one 
and  she  has  n't  stolen,  has  she  ?  But  no  matter  what  she  may 
have  done,  she  's  atoned  for  it  all.  Tell  me  only  this  :  Has  she  any 
such  trouble  on  her  conscience  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !     She  's  harmed  no  one  on  earth  but  herself." 

"  All  right  then  ;  we  '11  say  no  more  about  it.  Did  you  see  how 
the  deaf  and  dumb  man  in  the  village  fell  on  his  knees  before  her  ?  " 

"No." 

"  But  I  did  ;  and  I  heard  Babi,  the  root  girl,  say  that  the  crazy 
woman  from  the  farm  would  never  come  back  again.  Now  Babi 's 
crazy  and  Irmgard  is  n't,  but  still  it  frightened  me.  I  do  n't  know 
—but  it  seems  to  me  that  our  home  will  seem  empty,  if  we  do  n't 
have  Irmgard  with  us.  She 's  become  one  of  us." 

When  they  had  returned  to  the  house  and  were  sitting  together 
in  the  front  room,  Hansei  said : 

"Do  n't  you  remember  how  she  advised  me  to  place  the  table 
differently,  and  how  she  helped  to  arrange  everything,  and  told 
uncle  to  shorten  the  legs  of  the  chairs,  so  that  they  might  fit 
better  to  the  table  ?  I  've  never  seen  a  farmer's  room  that  looked 
so  beautiful  as  ours ;  and  she  was  a  great  help  to  you  in  every- 
thing." 

Hansei  had  much  to  arrange  about  the  house,  and  Walpurga 
would  often  come  to  him,  with  one  of  the  children,  and  exchange 
a  few  words  with  him,  while  at  work.  She  did  not  care  to  be 
alone.  She  missed  Irma,  and  yet  was  happy  to  know  that  she  was 
safe  in  her  lonely  retreat. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  day  did  not  clear.     At  noon,  the  mist  changed  into  heavy 
rain. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  rains  as  hard  up  there,  too ;  she  '11  be  terribly 
wet,"  thought  Walpurga  to  herself,  and,  indeed,  it  was  raining 
just  as  heavily  up  the  mountain.  Wild,  rapid  little  streams  ran 
across  the  road  and  bubbled  and  splashed  down  the  mountain  side. 

With  the  aid  of  a  mountain  staff  which  Hansei  had  given  her, 
Irma  walked  on  courageously.  To  protect  her  against  the  rain, 
the  little  pitchman  had  given  her  his  great  woolen  rug,  in  which 
there  was  only  a  hole  to  slip  the  head  through.  He  managed  to 
cover  himself  with  empty  corn  sacks.  He  walked  at  her  side,  and 
often  said : 

"  Shall  I  carry  you  ?  " 

Irma  walked  on.     The  staff  was  of  little  use  during  the  ascent 
out,  now  and  then,  they  had  to  go  down  a  sharp  declivity — a  sink 


564  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

as  the  uncle  called  it — when  she  was  obliged  to  plant  it  firmly  and 
swing  herself  by  it.  The  little  pitchman  was  always  at  hand,  reacty 
to  catch  Irma,  in  case  she  should  slip  ;  but  she  had  a  firm  step. 

As  the  herd  were  not  yet  used  to  each  other,  it  was  quite  difficult 
to  keep  them  together ;  but  the  little  pitchman  knew  how  to  manage 
thi-  animals,  and  the  bells,  ringing  merrily  together,  seemed  like  a 
constantly  ascending  melody. 

"  The  cattle  are  well  off,"  said  the  little  pitchman,  "  they  can  find 
their  fodder  along  the  wayside.  But  the  mistress  has  given  me 
something  for  ourselves.  We  '11  soon  reach  the  'Witch's  Table/ 
and  there  we  can  sit  under  shelter,  while  we  take  a  bite." 

They  soon  came  upon  a  broad,  projecting  rock,  resembling  a 
semicircular  table.  Here  there  was  dry  and  sandy  soil,  where  only 
the  lion-ant  dwelt,  in  his  funnel-shaped  cell.  Gundel,  Franz,  the 
little  pitchman  and  Irma  sat  down  under  shelter  of  the  "Witch's 
Table"  and  ate  heartily,  while  the  cows,  that  grazed  outside,  were 
left  in  charge  of  one  of  the  cowboys. 

"  The  rain  will  last  a  long  time,"  said  Franz.  The  little  pitchman 
called  him  to  account,  and  said  that  no  one  could  tell  how  long  the 
rain  would  last.  He  wanted  to  encourage  Irma. 

He  caught  a  lion-ant  and  showed  how  clever  the  little  creature 
was  ;  how  it  made  a  pitfall  in  the  fine  sand  and  hid  itself  at  the  point 
of  its  funnel-shaped  cell,  and  how  the  common  ant,  unconscious 
of  clanger,  would  come  along  and  tumble  into  the  pit,  from  which 
it  could  not  get  out  again  ;  for  the  fine  sand  rolls  away  from  under 
its  feet,  while  the  rogue  who  is  hiding  blinds  the  captive  by  throw- 
ing sand  in  its  eyes,  and  then  catches  and  eats  it.  "  And  strangest 
of  all,"  said  he,  "  next  year  that  gray  worm  will  be  a  brown  dragon- 
fly on  the  lake." 

He  well  knew  that  such  a  glimpse  of  nature  was  more  pleasing 
to  her  than  food  or  inspiriting  words. 

With  renewed  vigor,  they  went  still  further  up  the  mountain. 
As  if  invigorated  by  the  herbage  of  the  higher  regions,  the  cattle 
oecame  livelier.  At  last  they  drew  near  the  clearing  \vhere  the 
new  meadow  lay.  The  little  pitchman  instructed  Franz  to  go  on 
in  advance  and  open  the  stable  door.  Franz  obeyed  at  once  ;  soon 
after  that  his  call  was  heard,  and  the  cows  that  had  just  reached 
the  open  meadow  bellowed  and  rushed  forward.  The  rain  and 
mist  were  now  so  thick  that  the  hut  could  not  be  distinguished 
until  they  were  within  a  few  steps  of  it.  "  That 's  lucky,"  cried  the 
little  pitchman,  "  the  swallows  have  already  built  their  nests  on  our 
cottage  ;  now  all  is  safe." 

He  stepped  forward,  knocked  at  the  door  three  times,  opened  it, 
and  offered  his  hand  to  Irma  with  the  words :  "  Let  joy  enter  and 
sorrow^  depart !  "  And  thus  they  were  home  at  last. 

Oh,  what  a  comfort  to  have  a  sheltering  roof  over  one's  head  ! 
Irma  often  looked  up,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  express  the  gratitude 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  565 

she  felt  because  of  her  being  at  last  protected  against  the  angry 
storm.  Now  that  she  was  snugly  housed  in  the  cottage,  it  seemed 
far  more  gloomy  out  of  doors  than  while  they  were  trudging 
through  the  rain.  There  was  soon  a  cheerful  fire  on  the  large 
hearth,  and  the  little  pitchman,  muttering  to  himself,  took  some- 
thing out  of  his  pocket  and  threw  it  into  the  flames. 

"  Since  the  world  began,"  said  he,  "no  fire  has  ever  been  lighted 
here,  and  no  smoke  has  arisen  to  heaven.  We  're  the  first  inhab- 
itants. But  the  swallows — yes,  the  swallows — that 's  lucky." 

tie  might  have  said  much  more,  if  he  had  n't  been  called  away 
by  Franz,  who  came  to  tell  him  that  a  cow  out  in  the  stable  had 
just  calved. 

Irma  was  alone  with  Gundel.  She  quickly  undressed  herself 
and  dried  and  warmed  herself  by  the  fire.  But  Gundel  was  called 
away,  too,  so  that  she  might  know  what  to  do  on  a  like  occasion 
in  the  future.  And  now  Irma,  divested  of  her  outer  clothing,  sat 
by  the  fire.  She  felt  chilled  at  first,  but  the  sense  of  cold  and  of 
fear  quickly  left  her.  She  gazed  calmly  at  the  cheerful  fire — a  soli- 
tary child  of  man,  alone  on  the  heights.  She  had  completely  for- 
gotten where  she  was,  until  she  heard  voices  approaching.  She 
quickly  covered  herself  with  the  dried  clothes.  The  little  pitchman 
entered  and  offered  his  congratulations  on  the  fact  that  they  had 
been  blessed  with  a  splendid  steer-calf  on  the  very  first  day. 

Night  came  on.  Franz  took  his  departure.  Gundel  went  with 
him  part  of  the  way  and,  until  she  returned,  they  could  be  heard 
calling  to  each  other  through  the  drizzling  rain.  The  inmates  of 
the  cottage  soon  repaired  to  rest.  The  little  pitchman  and  the 
cowboy  slept  in  the  hay-loft  over  the  stable.  Irma  and  Gundel 
slept  in  the  house. 

When  they  awoke,  on  the  following  morning,  the  day  was  still 
veiled  in  a  thick  mist.  "We  're  in  a  cloud,"  said  the  little  pitch- 
man. 

The  cows  were  grazing.  The  bells  seemed  scattered  about,  and, 
in  the  distance,  had  a  dreamlike  sound  as  of  the  humming  of  bees. 

Irma  had  hoped  to  be  alone,  and  here  she  was  shut  up  in  this 
little  hut  with  its  few  inmates.  The  little  pitchman  had  said 
that  they  were  the  first  dwellers  on  this  bit  of  earth,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  nature  resented  their  advances.  The  wind  howled  and  drove 
the  clouds  before  it,  but  always  brought  fresh  ones  to  replace  them, 
and,  now  and  then,  were  heard  the  crash  and  roar  of  falling 
avalanches. 

Irma  endeavored  to  work,  but  to  no  purpose. 

The  second  night  and  the  second  day  found  them  still  enveloped 
in  impenetrable  clouds.  Even  the  cattle  seemed  to  complain  of  it, 
their  lowing  sounded  so  sorrowful. 

It  was  early  on  the  third  morning,  when  Irrna  awoke,  feeling  as 
if  something  had  touched  her.  She  arose.  A  soft  gleam  of  light 


566  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

shone  through  the  crevice  in  the  window-shutter.  The  sun  has 
awakened  me,"  said  she  to  herself.  She  hurriedly  dressed  and 
went  out  of  doors. 

The  fresh  and  dewy  air  of  morning  revived  her  spirits.  A  cow, 
grazing  near  by,  raised  its  head  and  looked  at  her,  and  then  went 
on  eating  again. 

A  silver-gray  light  gradually  dawned  in  the  east,  and  that  wonder- 
ful passage  from  Haydn's  "  Creation  "  flashed  through  Irma's  mind. 
She  fancied  that  the  tones  assumed  tangible,  corporeal  shapes, 
arising  out  of  the  early  gray  of  dawn.  By  degrees,  the  gray- 
changed  into  a  golden  hue,  and  then  faint  streaks  of  red  would 
flash  through  it,  gradually  heightening  in  color,  while  down  below, 
stretching  into  the  distance,  like  a  dark  and  immeasurable  stream, 
lay  the  darkness  of  night.  At  last,  rugged  cliffs,  peaks,  and 
broad  mountain  ridges  raised  their  heads  into  the  light,  while 
their  bases  still  lay  veiled  in  night  which  was  gradually  changing 
into  a  dark  gray.  The  rosy  tint  gradually  extended  and  gained  in 
intensity  until  it  covered  the  heavens.  Meanwhile,  the  giant  forms 
of  the  mountains  stood  forth  more  clearly  and  at  last,  dazzling  the 
eyes,  the  sun  appeared,  bathing  every  height  in  purple  and  golden 
hues,  while  the  rolling  clouds  below  appeared  like  mighty  waves. 
Bright  day,  warming  and  illumining  the  earth  had  arisen.  Millions 
of  odors  arose  from  every  tree,  even-  blade  of  grass,  and  every 
flower.  The  singing  of  birds  was  heard,  and  Irma  opened  her 
arms  as  if  to  embrace  infinity.  She  did  not  sink  on  her  knees,  but 
remained  standing  upright.  Involuntarily,  her  foot  left  the  ground, 
as  if  she  could  not  help  soaring  away  into  infinite  space.  She 
pressed  both  hands  to  her  forehead,  and  when  she  touched  the 
bandage,  it  seemed  loosened  of  itself  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

A  sunbeam  shone  upon  her  brow  and  she  felt  that  it  was  now 
pure.  She  stood  there  for  a  long  while,  gazing  at  the  sunlight. 
Her  eye  was  not  dazzled  by  its  refulgence,  Calm  and  peaceful 
harmonic  filled  her  soul.  A  child  of  man  had  witnessed  the  sym- 
bol of  creation  and  had  herself  been  created  anew. 

Now  come,  ye  days  that  are  still  left  me,  be  ye  long  or  short ! — 
Where  and  with  whom  I  may  have  to  spend  them,  it  matters  not ; 
for  I  am  free  !  I  am  saved  ! 

All  that  I  now  do  is  only  preparation  for  the  journey.  The  hour 
draws  near  and,  be  it  early  or  late,  I  am  prepared  for  it.  I  have 
lived  ! 

"  Why,  Irmgard,  how  strange  you  look  !  "  exclaimed  Gundel, 
coming  out  of  the  hut,  and  carrying  the  milkpail  on  her  head. 
"  Dear  me,  what  a  forehead  you  've  got,  so  white  and  so  beautiful ! 
Oh,  how  beautiful  you  are  !  I  never  saw  so  smooth  and  beautiful 
a  forehead  before  !  " 

Irma  accepted  a  glass  of  milk  from  Gundel,  and  then  tucked  up 
her  dress  and  went  out  into  the  woods.  It  was  not  until  high  noon 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  567 

that  she  returned  to  the  cottage.     During  the  whole  day,  she  had 
scarcely  uttered  a  word. 

.     In  the  cottage,  she  found  the  little  pitchman  standing  before  her 
table,  and  arranging  a  great  heap  of  aromatic  herbs  and  roots. 

"  Just  look  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  've  found  something  already.  Yes,  I 
know  a  thing  or  two.  I  've  been  gathering  clover  and  mountain 
parsley  for  the  apothecary.  I  know  everything  growing  hereabouts 
that  they  can  use,  and  many  a  time  has  my  sister  said  :  '  In  the 
spring,  everything 's  sweet  and  good  ;  and,  wherever  the  poison  lies, 
it  takes  the  summer  heat  to  bring  it  out.'  Oh,  she  was  a  clever  one  ! 
Many  a  time  she  's  said  :  '  The  best  things  grow  up  among  the 
clouds.'  " 

After  a  short  pause,  he  began  again : 

"  Gundel  's  right ;  I  must  say,  I  did  n't  think  you  were  so  hand- 
some. But,  somehow,  you  do  n't  look  healthy ;  you  must  eat  more  ; 
why,  you  hardly  eat  anything." 

A  grateful  smile  was  Irma's  only  reply. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  'd  like  to  have  been  ?" 

"What?" 

"Your  father." 

Irma  answered  him  with  a  silent  inclination  of  the  head.  Her 
father's  spirit  had  been  invoked,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  speak- 
ing to  her  through  the  lips  of  this  poor,  simple-minded  man,  who 
continued  : 

"  God  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  help  feeling,  once  in  a  while,  as  if 
you  had  dropped  down  from  heaven,  and  had  neither  father  nor 
mother ;  and  to-day  you  look  so  weak  that  my  eyes  fill  with  tears 
whenever  I  look  at  you.  Now,  do  eat  a  bit !  " 

He  went  on  chattering  as  confusedly  as  if  he  had  been  drinking 
too  much,  but  the  refrain  was  always  the  same  :  "  Now  do  eat  some- 
thing !  " 

To  please  the  good  old  man,  Irma  forced  herself  to  do  so. 

CHAPTER     IX. 

'"PHE  days  were  bright  and  cheerful,  the  nights  were  glorious. 

1    The  air  was  pure,  the  view  was  clear,  and  all  troubled  thoughts 

seemed  to  have  lingered  below  in  the  crowded  dwellings  of  men. 

"  I  think  you  could  now  sing  again,"  said  the  little  pitchman  to 

Irma  ;  "  your  voice  is  n't  so  hoarse  as  it  was.     But  you  need  more 

sleep.     When  one  is  old,  sleep  runs  away  of  itself.     Do  n't  drive  it 

away,  as  long  as  it  wants  to  stay  with  you." 

The  little  pitchman  now  seemed  doubly  careful  of  her,  and  Irma 
perceived  that  her  voice  was  hoarse.  She  would  sit  down  and 
rest  oftener  than  she  had  previously  done.  She  would  still  roam 
through  the  woods  and  valleys,  wherever  huntsmen  or  woodcutter 
dared  venture,  but  she  vould  so  often  stop  to  rest  herself  tha* 


•$68  a\*  THE  HEIGHTS. 

her  wanderings  resembled  the  flight  of  some  young  bird  which,  at 
every  short  distance,  is  obliged  to  stop.  She  now  remembered  that 
this  weariness  had  been  upon  her  ever  since  her  return  from  the 
capital.  During  the  winter  she  had  paid  no  attention  to  it ;  but 
now  she  thought  she  could  understand  Walpurga's  motive  in 
urging  her  to  go  up  to  the  shepherd's  hut.  It  was  because  she 
was  ill,  and  in  the  hope  that  she  might  become  well  again.  And 
yet  she  felt  no  pain.  One  day,  while  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  she 
tried  to  sing  a  scale,  but  found  that  she  could  not.  Her  head  sank 
upon  her  breast ;  and  thus,  after  all — 

On  Sunday  morning  Franz  came,  bringing  joy  with  him. 

"Oh,  how  nice  it  is,"  said  Gundel,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself 
alone  with  Franz.  Irma  was  quite  near,  however,  and  heard  every 
word  of  what  she  said.  "  Oh,  how  nice  it  is  !  I  used  to  think  my 
arms  were  only  for  work,  but  now  I  can  do  something  else  with 
them  ;  I  can  throw  them  around  somebody's  neck  and  hug  and 
kiss  him  ! " 

Gundel,  who  was  usually  dull  and  sullen,  had  become  active  and 
sprightly.  She  was  bustling  about  all  day,  scrubbing,  washing, 
milking  the  cows,  making  butter  and  cheese,  and  was  always  sing- 
ing or  humming  a  tune  to  herself.  With  her,  singing  filled  the 
place  of  thinking.  She  was  just  like  a  bird  that  flutters  about, 
singing  all  day  long.  Love  had  awakened  her  soul,  and  the  self- 
dependent  position  in  which  she  now  found  herself  afforded  a  vent 
to  her  native  cheerfulness  of  temperament. 

Irma  regarded  all  that  environed  her  as  if  she  were  a  mere 
looker-on,  taking  no  part  in  the  life  about  her. 

Tradition  tells  us  of  good  genii  who  descend  to  the  earth,  remain 
there  long  enough  to  look  about  them  and  put  things  to  rights,  and 
then  return  to  heaven.  They  have  no  share  in  the  world's  cares 
and  troubles.  And  thus  it  often  seemed  to  Irma  as  if  she  were 
withdrawing  herself  from  human  sight,  conversation  and  sympathy, 
into  the  one  great  idea  in  which  she  was  wholly  absorbed. 

She  went  into  the  hut,  and  with  her  pencil  wrote  these  few  words 
in  her  journal : 

"  I  desire  my  brother  to  give  a  marriage  portion  to  Gundel  and 
Franz,  after  my  death,  so  that  they  may  establish  a  household  of 
their  own." 

Thereupon  she  wrapped  the  journal  in  the  bandage  which  she 
had  worn  on  her  brow,  and,  placing  her  hand  on  it,  vowed  that  she 
would  not  write  another  word  in  it.  She  had  recorded  enough  of 
her  self-questionings  and  of  what  her  eyes  had  beheld,  to  reconcile 
her  with  the  friend  whom  she  had  so  deeply  injured,  as  well  as  with 
herself.  The  days  that  still  remained  to  her  she  desired  to  spend 
completely,  and  with  herself. 

Franz  had  brought  word  that  Walpurga  would  not  come  that 
day,  as  her  boy  was  unwell,  but  that  she  hoped  to  come  without 


ON  THE  HEIG1 

fail  on  the  following  Sunday.  Irma  was  al 
portunity  thus  afforded  her  to  become  ace 
life,  before  being  obliged  to  converse  with  any 
She  was  now  surrounded  by  people  to  whom  her  past  was  un- 
known. They  indulged  her  wish  to  be  alone  and  only  addressed 
her  when  she  asked  them  a  question. 

The  second  and  third  Sundays  passed  by,  but  Walpurga  did  not 
come,  although  she  sent  up  some  bread  and  salt.  Irma  scarcely 
cared  to  conjecture  the  cause  of  her  absence. 

How  scornfully  Irma  had  once  repelled  the  thought  of  "  a  life  in 
which  nothing  happens  ;  "  but  now  she  realized  it  in  herself,  with- 
out the  slightest  feeling,  on  her  part,  that  it  might  have  been  other- 
wise. She  worked  but  little  and  would  lie  for  hours  on  her  favorite 
spot  on  the  hillside. 

Nature  shed  its  kindly  influence  upon  her.  She  greeted  the  dews 
of  early  morn,  and  the  dews  of  evening  moistened  her  locks.  Like 
surrounding  nature,  she  was  calm  and  happy  and  without  a  wish. 
But  in  the  night,  when  she  looked  up  at  the  starry  skies  which, 
from  the  mountain  height,  were  clearer  and  brighter,  her  soul 
soared  into  the  infinite.  She  gazed  on  the  mountains,  unchanged 
since  the  day  of  their  creation,  peaks  which  no  human  foot  had 
ever  trod,  which  only  the  clouds  could  touch  and  on  which  the 
eagle's  eye  had  rested.  Familiar  as  she  was  with  the  life  of  plants 
and  birds,  she  now  scarcely  regarded  them.  They  seemed  part  of 
herself,  just  as  her  limbs  were  part  of  her  body.  Nature  was  no 
longer  strange  to  her.  She  felt  herself  a  part  of  it.  She  had 
reached  that  state  of  calm  content  in  which  life  seems  a  pure  chain 
of  natural  consequences,  in  which  daily  doubts  and  questionings 
have  ceased.  The  sun  rises  and  sets,  the  grass  grows,  the  cows 
graze,  and  the  law  of  life  bids  man  work  and  reflect.  The  world 
around  thee  is  subject  to  law  and  so  is  thine  own  life.  To  man 
alone  is  vouchsafed  the  knowledge  of  his  duty,  so  that  he  may 
learn  freely  to  obey  the  dictates  of  his  own  nature. 

This  thought  illumined  her  soul  with  a  light  as  clear  as  the  blue 
sky  above  her.  It  caused  her  to  forget  that  she  had  ever  lived 
another  life,  or  had  ever  erred. 

On  the  fourth  Sunday,  Irma  started  out  at  an  early  hour  and 
walked  as  far  as  the  boundary-stone,  where  she  waited  for  Wal- 
purga and  Hansei.     Now  that  they  had  sent  word  that  they  would 
surely  come,  Irma  longed  to  see  Walpurga,  the  only  being  who 
new  her  past  and  could  confirm  to  her  who  she  was. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  boundary-stone.  She  had  taken  off  her 
at  and  her  brow  was  bare.  She  sat  there,  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand,  and  wondering  why,  deep  within  the  soul,  there  dwells 
a  feeling  that  resents  the  surrender  of  our  personality  and  the  de- 
sire to  know  who  and  whence  we  are.  To  others,  the  galley  slave  is 
only  known  by  the  number  he  bears,  but,  as  to  himself,  he  knows 


570  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

who  he  is  and  can  never  forget  it.     Why  can  we  not  freely  lose 
ourselves  in  nature  ? 

Her  head  drooped  still  lower.  Presently,  she  heard  voices  and 
hurriedly  arose. 

"  Is  n't  that  our  Irmgard  ?  "  asked  Hansei. 

"Yes,  it  is!" 

Walpurga  hurried  up  to  her  and  held  out  her  hand  ;  but  Hansei 
stood  as  if  petrified.  He  had  never  before  seen  such  a  being.  It 
always  seemed  to  him  as  if  there  were  something  superhuman 
about  her.  Her  whole  face  was  radiant,  her  eyes  larger,  and  the 
pure,  noble  forehead  was  as  white  and  smooth  as  marble.  Wal- 
purga, who  had  known  Irma  when  at  the  height  of  her  beauty, 
now  looked  at  her  with  a  different  feeling,  for  she  was  suffering  for 
her  sake,  in  a  way  that  Irma  could  little  dream  of.  Involuntarily, 
she  pressed  her  hand  against  her  trembling  heart. 

"Why  do  n't  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Hansei?"  asked  Irma. 

"  I — I — I  never  saw  you  look  this  way  before." 

A  slight  blush  overspread  her  forehead.  She  passed  her  hand 
over  it.  Then  she  offered  her  hand  to  Hansei,  who,  in  his  excite- 
ment, pressed  it  so  violently  that  he  hurt  her. 

They  walked  on  together  towards  the  hut,  and  had  gone  but  a 
few  steps  before  they  were  joined  by  the  little  pitchman.  He  had, 
as  was  his  wont,  stealthily  followed  Irma.  He  was  concerned  foi 
her  sake,  for  he  saw  that  something  was  the  matter  with  her,  and 
was,  therefore,  loth  to  leave  her  alone. 

"  She  looks  splendid,  do  n't  she  ?  "  said  he  to  Hansei,  who  had  re- 
mained with  him  while  Irma  and  Walpurga  walked  on  in  front. 
"  But  she  lives  on  nothing  but  milk,  just  like  a  little  child  ;  and  you 
can't  make  her  remember  that,  up  here,  the  nights  get  cold  all  of 
a  sudden.  She  always  wants  to  sit  out  of  doors  in  the  damp, 
night  air.  I  often  think  she  must  be  an  angel  and  that,  all  of  a 
sudden,  she  '11  spread  her  wings  and  fly  away — yes,  you  may  laugh 
at  it,  but  it  ain't  far  from  here  up  to  heaven.  'We  're  the  Lord's 
nearest  neighbors,  up  here,'  as  my  sister  used  to  say." 

Hansei  and  the  uncle  went  off  to  look  after  the  cattle.  Besides 
the  calf  born  on  the  first  day,  two  others  had  come  and  all  were 
doing  well.  It  was  a  full  hour  before  Hansei  came  to  the  hut  and 
his  whole  bearing  expressed  his  satisfaction  with  all  that  he  had 
seen. 

Meanwhile,  Walpurga  had  examined  everything  in  the  hut  and 
she,  too,  had  found  cleanliness  and  order  everywhere. 

In  the  afternoon,  their  next  neighbor,  who  lived  at  a  mountain 
meadow  about  an  hour's  distance  from  Hansei's,  paid  them  a  visit 
and  brought  her  zither  with  her. 

It  was  no  small  condescension,  on  the  part  of  the  freeholder's 
wife,  to  sing  with  Gundel  and  the  neighbor.  Franz  joined  in  and 
the  little  pitchman  was  also  able  to  take  part.  Hansei,  however, 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  571 

could  not  sing  a  note ;  but  his  want  of  ability  added  to  his  dignity 
— a  wealthy  farmer  is  supposed  to  have  given  up  singing. 

"  This  is  the  only  place  where  you  can  sing,  up  here.  You  can't 
do  it  over  there,  where  the  road  leads  into  the  village,"  cried  Gun- 
del,  after  the  first  song.  "  If  you  sing,  or  speak  a  loud  word  there, 
the  echo  drowns  it  all." 

She  ran  to  the  spot  and  sang  a  few  notes,  which  were  echoed 
again  and  again  from  every  mountain  and  ravine. 

"You  ought  to  sing,  too,"  said  Walpurga  to  Irma;  "you  've  no 
idea  how  well  she  can  sing." 

"  I  cannot  sing,"  replied  Irma  ;  "my  voice  is  gone." 

"  Then  play  something  for  us ;  you  can  play  the  zither  beauti- 
fully," said  Walpurga. 

All  joined  in  the  request,  and  Irma  was  at  last  obliged  to  play. 
The  little  pitchman  held  his  breath.  He  had  never  heard  such 
beautiful  playing  before,  and  not  one,  thought  he,  knew  what  Irma 
could  do.  She  soon  modulated  into  the  familiar  melody,  and  the 
little  pitchman  was  the  first  to  start  the  song : 

Oh,  blissful  is  the  tender  tie. 

It  was  a  happy,  cheerful  houi. 

Hansei  now  conducted  his  wife,  Irma  and  the  little  pitchman  to 
the  spot  from  which  they  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  lake  near 
their  old  home.  It  sparkled  brightly  in  the  sun,  and  Hansei 
remarked  that  it  seemed  like  the  look  of  a  human  being  who  had 
known  him  from  youth  up. 

Walpurga  was  afraid  lest  the  scene  might  awaken  sad  thoughts 
in  Irma,  and  turned  towards  her;  but  she  only  said:  "It  pleases 
me,  too." 

Hansei  now  described  the  whole  neighborhood  to  Irma,  told  her 
where  this  and  that  place  lay,  and  showed  her  the  mountain  where 
he  had  planted  so  many  trees.  The  forest  itself  could  not  be  seen, 
but  the  rocky  peak  which  rose  from  it  was  visible. 

Walpurga,  meanwhile,  drew  her  uncle  aside,  and  said : 

"  Uncle,  my  mother  's  dead — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  and  you  can't  think  more  of  her  than  I  do. 
Just  ask  Irmgard  how  often  we  talk  of  her.  It  always  seems  to  me 
as  if  she  must  be  in  the  next  room.  It  is  n't  far  to  heaven  from 
where  we  now  are.  She  can  hear  every  word  we  say." 

"  Yes,  uncle ;  but  let  me  finish  what  I  was  going  to  say.  I  've 
got  something  to  tell  you." 

It  went  hard  with  the  uncle  to  listen  quietly,  for  he  always  had 
so  much  to  say  himself.  Without  noticing  his  repeated  interrup- 
tions, Walpurga  continued : 

"  Uncle,  you  're  a  sensible  man — " 

"  May  be,  but  ft  has  n't  done  me  much  good  in  life." 

'  Now  I  want  to  tell  you  something — " 

'  Very  well ;  out  with  it." 


572  av  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  'm  in  trouble  about  Irmgard — " 

"  You  need  n't  worry  about  her.  I  watch  her. as  if  she  was  the 
apple  of  my  eye.  Make  yourself  quite  easy  on  that  score." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  I  know  all  about  that ;  but  there  are  some  awful 
wicked  people  in.  the  world,  and  they  '11  follow  you  up  to  the  very 
mountain-tops — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  the  gend'arme  often — " 

"  Uncle,  do  listen  to  me  patiently  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  'm  not  saying  a  word." 

"Well,  uncle,  mother  knew  who  Irmgard  is." 

"  And  so  do  I.  You  need  n't  tell  me  anything  about  that.  I 
know  her,  out  and  out.  I  'm  not  so  stupid,  depend  on  that." 

"  Yes,  uncle,  that 's  all  right.  I  wanted  to  confide  something  to 
you — " 

"  You  can  trust  me  with  anything.  As  to  that  matter,  I  can  call 
your  mother  in  heaven  to  bear  me  witness — " 

"  There  's  no  need  of  that.  Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  Irm- 
gard has  had  a  sad  life — " 

"  I  know  all  about  it.  When  I  was  in  the  city  with  her,  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  there  must  be  something  or  other  of  that  kind. 
It  may  be  that  they  wanted  her  to  marry  somebody  that  she  did  n't 
like.  May  be  she  's  a  left-handed  child,  or  may  be  she  's  got  a 
husband  and  left  him.  She  looked  at  the  big  houses  in  such  a 
queer  way — she  always  seemed  as  if  she  wanted  to  creep  out  of 
sight." 

Walpurga  was  surprised  at  her  uncle,  who  would  not  permit  her 
to  say  a  word,  and  suddenly  it  occurred  to  her :  I  was  just  like  him 
once  and  thought  that  I  must  always  keep  chatting,  instead  of 
listening  to  what  others  had  to  tell  me.  She  looked  at  her  uncle 
for  a  long  while  and  he,  taking  it  as  a  compliment,  nowr  told  her, 
for  the  first  time,  of  what  he  had  felt  on  that  journey  with  Irma  and 
of  all  that  he  had  seen  while  with  her — the  lions,  the  serpents,  the 
high  priest  and  the  "Magic  Flute"  were  all  mixed  together  in  in- 
extricable confusion. 

Walpurga  made  up  her  mind  that  there  was  no  need  of  divulg- 
ing her  secret,  and  contented  herself  by  telling  her  uncle  that  he 
must  never  leave  Irma  alone,  and  that  if  any  stranger  came — no 
matter  who  he  might  be — he  should  take  her  secretly  into  the 
woods,  so  that  no  one  should  see  her. 

The  uncle  promised  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 

"Yes,"  he  added,  "what  a  strange  world  it  is.  Just  think  of  it  ! 
The  herbs  I  take  to  the  apothecary  in  the  next  village  are  for  the 
baths  of  young  Countess  Wildenort,  the  daughter-in-law  to  the  one 
I  used  to  know.  \Vhile  I  was  standing  in  front  of  the  apothecary's 
the  other  day,  a  man  came  riding  by,  on  a  beautiful,  glossy  black 
horse.  Its  legs  looked  as  if  they  'd  been  turned  in  a  lathe'.  The 
.nan  had  a  child  sitting  in  front  of  him  on  the  horse,  a  boy  about 


0V  THE  HEIGHTS.  573 

the  size  of  our  Peter,  with  a  blue  frock,  and  wearing  a  feather  in 
his  hat,  and  the  boy  was  so  like  Irmgard  it  might  have  been  her 
own  child.  And  the  apothecary  said  to  me  that  it  was  Count 
Wildenort,  the  son  of  the  one  I  used  to  know.  And  so,  when  he 
rode  past,  I  said  :  '  Good  morning,  Count  ? '  He  pulled  up  and 
asked  :  '  How  do  you  know  me  ?  ' 

"  And  I  said  :  '  I  knew  your  father,  and  he  was  a  good  man — ' 
And  what  do  you  think  he  said  ?  Not  a  word.  He  rode  off  with- 
out so  much  as  thanking  me.  They  tell  me  he  's  not  so  good  a 
man  as  his  father  was.  and  they  say  his  mother-in-law  has  him 
under  her  thumb,  so  that  he  dare  n't  move.  But  the  child  is  beau- 
tiful and  the  very  picture  of  our  Inna.  It  's  wonderful,  what 
strange  things  happen  in  the  world." 

Walpurga  trembled,  and  made  her  uncle  promise  that  he  would 
never  mention  Irma  to  a  soul  in  the  village. 

The  uncle  also  promised  that  he  would  not  let  Irmgard  know 
anything  of  the  matter. 

Towards  evening,  Walpurga  and  Hansei  went  home  again  and, 
when  night  came,  Fcanz  returned  also.  The  inmates  of  the  shep 
herd's  hut  were  once  more  alone.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  among 
them,  for  they  had  talked  and  heard  enough  during  the  day.  All 
was  silent.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the  tinkling  cow  bells  in 
the  woods  and  on  the  green  hillside,  and  the  stars  shone  overhead. 
Irma  was  seated  on  the  spot  from  which  the  distant  lake  was  vis- 
ible, and  it  was  long  before  she  retired  to  rest. 

CHAPTER     X. 

IRMA  now  spent  but  a  small  portion  of  the  day  at  the  workbench. 
Her  work  had  become  even  more  irksome  than  at  first.  Hei 
eye  was  constantly  fixed  on  the  vast  and  extended  mountain  pros- 
pect, towards  which  she  would  ever  return  from  her  task  writh 
added  zest. 

The  little  pitchman,  who  was  quite  diplomatic  in  his  way,  begged 
Irma  to  go  with  him  while  he  went  out  to  hunt  plants  and  roots, 
for  he  said  that  he  was  old  and  did  not  know  but  what  he  might 
sometime  lose  his  footing,  and  it  would,  in  that  case,  be  well  to 
have  some  one  with  him  who  could  go  for  help. 

After  that,  Irma  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  with  the  little 
pitchman,  wandering  through  the  forest  and  over  hill  and  dale. 
Her  greatest  delight  was  whenever  they  reached  the  spot  where 
the  brook  arose.  It  flowed  smoothly  from  a  dark,  rocky  cavern  and 
then  boldly  galloped  down  the  hill,  striking  against  fragments  of 
rock  by  the  way,  now  gliding  over  them,  now  forcing  its  way  be- 
low them,  until  it  reached  the  first  valley,  where  it  formed  a  basin 
encircled  by  tall,  silver  fir  trees.  Thence  it  flowed  through  the  ta- 
ble land  and,  softly  murmuring,  glided  down  over  the  second 
mountain  into  the  valley  below. 


574  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  little  pitchman  plainly  saw  how  much  Irma  liked  to  be  here. 
He  even  thought  that  he  had  once  heard  her  sing,  and  that  her 
voice  had  been  audible  above  the  rushing  and  roaring  of  the  wa- 
ters, and  it  was  a  strange  coincidence  that  most  of  the  herbs  ot 
which  he  was  in  search  could  be  found  in  the  neighborhood.  Novs 
and  then,  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  discover  a  bird's  nest,  and 
would  show  it  to  Irma,  who  was  as  delighted  with  it  as  though  she 
were  a  little  child.  The  animals  here  seemed  as  yet  to  be  without 
fear  of  man  and  the  little  pitchman  maintained  that  the  reason  the 
little  birds  did  n't  fly  away  when  Irma  looked  at  them,  was  be- 
cause she  had  such  kindly  eyes.  They  flew  about  her  as  if  she 
were  an  old  friend,  and  the  mother  bird  in  the  nest  looked  at  her 
affectionately,  and  did  not  take  wing. 

Thus  Irma  would  spend  whole  afternoons,  sitting  by  the  spring 
and,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  would,  now  and 
then,  throw  some  flower  which  she  had  plucked  into  the  brook. 

The  brook  flowed  through  the  town  in  which  Gunther  lived.  A 
beautiful  boy  was  sitting  on  its  banks,  and  a  red-haired  servant  in 
liven*  was  by  his  side. 

The  boy  ordered  the  sen-ant  to  fish  out  a  beautiful  flower  that 
was  floating  by.  The  servant  clambered  down  the  -steep  bank 
and,  just  as  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  stream,  the  boy  threw  a 
stone  into  the  water,  so  that  it  splashed,  and  the  sen-ant  ex- 
claimed :  "  My  young  master,  you  've  behaved  badly  again  !  " 

"  Is  he  at  his  wild  tricks  again  ?  "  said  a  tall  and  handsome  young 
man,  with  a  countenance  that  bore  the  marks  of  dissipation. 
"  What  are  you  doing,  Eberhard  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  startled  and  the  sen-ant  said  : 

"  Nothing,  sir.  My  young  master  and  I  were  only  having  a  little 
fun  together." 

The  young  man  took  the  boy  by  the  hand  and  walked  with  him 
through  the  meadow  and  towards  a  beautifully  situated  country- 
house,  while  Fitz,  the  groom,  followed.  The  man  in  front  was 
Count  Eberhard  von  Wildenort,  and  the  boy  with  him  was  his  son. 

Bruno  had  given  strict  orders  that  his  boy  should  not  go  near 
the  water.  He  had  a  great  dread  of  that"  element,  for  it  hr^d 
brought  such  terrible  misfortune  upon  his  family.  But,  as  if  by 
some  evil  influence,  the  boy  was  always  drawn  towards  the  wild 
stream,  and  Fitz,  who  always  let  him  have  his  own  way,  secretly 
abetted  and  accompanied  him. 

Bruno  looked  back,  shook  his  finger  at  Fitz,  and  then  entered 
the  garden  of  the  country-house.  His  wife  was  there,  sitting 
in  a  large  armchair.  A  little  girl  was  playing  on  the  gravel  path, 
and  a  nurse  was  carrying  an  infant  in  her  arms.  The  matin 
bell  was  heard  and  presently  the  mother-in-law  appeared  at  the 
garden  gate.  She  was  followed  by  a  sen-ant  who  carried  an  em- 
broidered cushion  and  a  prayer-book  sparkling  with  jewels. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  575 

The  Baroness  greeted  her  family  with  the  calm  and  satisfied  air 
of  one  who  had  already  fulfilled  her  highest  duties.  Bruno  offered 
her  his  arm  and,  Arabella  following,  they  repaired  to  the  breakfast 
table,  which  had  been  set  in  the  arbor. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  Baroness.  "  What  shall  we  do  with  our- 
selves to-day?  It  is  lovely,  and  I  don't  think  the  weather  will 
change.  The  apothecary  tells  me  there  is  a  very  pretty  shepherd's 
hut  a  few  hours  distant  from  here,  the  view  from  which  must  be 
exquisite.  How  would  it  be  if  we  were  to  send  our  servants  up  be- 
fore us,  to  make  arrangements  for  our  dining  there  ?  " 

"  Permit  me,  gracious  mother-in-law,"  replied  Bruno,  timidly. 

"  Very  well ;  make  a  suggestion  !  Do  n't  leave  everything  to 
me.  What  have  you  to  propose  in  this  deadly-lively  solitude, 
where  we  are  thrown  upon  the  odious  privy  councilor,  and  the 
female  philistines  of  his  family.  I  beg  of  you,  do  propose  some- 
thing." 

"  In  my  humble  opinion — " 

"  Do  n;t  be  so  long  coming  to  the  point !  " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  to  your  interest  if  I  first  go  myself,  to  see 
whether  the  roads  are  fair  and  to  prevent  you  from  being  disap- 
pointed ;  for,  although  theatrical  shepherdesses  are,  as  a  rule,  very 
charming,  they  are  apt  to  be  great  frights  au  naturel." 

"  Thanks !  you  're  really  amiable.  When  will  you  set  out  on 
your  reconnaissance  ?  " 

"To-day,  if  you  desire  it." 

"  He  would  like  to  get  off  and  be  a  free,  single  man  for  one  day," 
said  the  smiling  Baroness  to  her  daughter.  "Oh,  I  know  him! 
Shall  we  give  him  a  day?  "  she  asked  roguishly. 

"  You  're  in  a  very  good  humor,"  replied  Bruno.  In  spite  of  all 
her  biting  remarks,  he  was  always  studiously  polite  towards  her. 
She  had  thrice  paid  his  gaming  and  other  debts,  for  Bruno  had 
not  yet  received  his  sister's  fortune,  as  the  body  had  not  been  found. 
It  was  not  till  next  year — that  is,  five  years  after  her  death — that 
he  would  be  allowed  to  take  legal  possession  of  it. 

"  Yes,  dear  Bruno,"  at  last  said  Arabella,  who  was  deeply  pained 
by  her  husband's  position.  "  You  'd  better  go  by  yourself.  Leave 
Fitz  here  with  us.  Eberhard  has  grown  so  used  to  him,  that  he 
does  n't  care  to  play  with  any  one  else." 

Bruno  repaired  to  the  apothecary's,  where  he  was  informed  that 
the  meadow  belonged  to  the  freeholder  who  lived  at  several  hour's 
distance.  He  started  for  the  farm  at  once. 

Walpurga  was  sitting  by  the  window,  and  playing  with  the  child 
in  her  lap,  when  she  saw  a  horseman  approaching.  She  involun- 
tarily raised  her  hand  to  her  eyes  and  leaned  back,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  ride  straight  over  her. 

She  saw  him  dismount  and  saw  Hansei  greet  him  and  lead  the 
horse  to  the  stable  ;  after  that,  Hansei  and  the  stranger  came  mtc 
the  room. 


576  CLV  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  God  greet  you,  Count !  "  said  Walpurga,  composing  herself  anc 
advancing  towards  him.  "  How  kind  of  you,  to  pay  us  a  visit." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  Bruno,  who  went  on  twisting  his 
moustache,  and  did  .not  offer  his  hand  in  return. 

"  Ah  !  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  I  did  n't  know  that  you  were  the  mistress 
here.  And  so  this  is  the  farm  that  you  paid  for  with  gold  ?  You  're 
shrewd,  but  do  n't  be  alarmed.  I  shan't  call  you  to  account !  " 

Hansei  observed  that  his  wife  was  growing  pale. 

"  Who  is  this  man  ?  Who  js  it  that  talks  to  you  in  this  high  and 
mighty  manner?  "  he  asked,  drawing  himself  up. 

"Be  quiet  !  "  said  WTalpurga.  "  He  's  one  of  the  court  gentle- 
men and  is  fond  of  joking." 

"  That  's  it,  is  it  ?  "  muttered  Hansei.  "  I  want  to  say  a  word 
to  you,  sir — what  may  your  name  be  ?  " 

"  Count  Wildenort." 

"  Well  then,  Count,  I  didn't  ask  who  you  were,  and  I  bade  you 
and  your  horse  welcome.  And  now  I  'd  like  you  to  tell  me  what 
you  want  and  leave  my  wife  alone.  In  my  house  and  home,  I  allow 
no  jokes  that  do  n't  please  me,  and  if  the  king  himself  were  to  come 
and  try  a  joke  that  I  did  n't  like,  I  'd  put  him  out !  No  offense,  but 
even-  one  must  say  what  he  thinks.  Now,  sir,  take  a  seat." 

Hansei  put  on  his  hat  and  pressed  it  down  firmly,  as  if  to  show 
that  he  was  master  here. 

Bruno  said,  with  a  smile : 

"  You  've  a  good  husband,  Walpurga." 

"That'll  do,"  said  Hansei,  interrupting  him.  "What  do  you 
wish,  Count?  " 

"  Nothing  out  of  the  way.  They  tell  me  you  have  a  shepherd's 
hut  on  your  mountain  meadow,  and  I  hear  it  is  the  finest  in  all  the 
Highlands. " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Hansei,  grinning.  "  It  is  n't  so  bad  and  it 's  very 
nicely  situated  ;  but  I  wont  sell  it." 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  buy  it.     All  I  want  is  to  spend  the  day  up  there." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Are  there  good  roads  leading  to  it  and  is  the  place  clean  ?  Is 
there  a  chance  of  coming  back,  without  bringing  a  herd  along  on 
one  's  body?  " 

"  You  're  right,  Walpurga,  he  's  quite  funny,"  whispered  Hansei 
to  his  wife  and  then,  turning  to  Bruno,  he  said  : 

"  The  roads  are  good  and  if  you  do  n't  mind  going  an  hour's 
distance  out  of  the  way,  you  can  ride  almost  to  the  very  spot.  I 
can  show  you  the  way  up  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Certainly  ;  my  wife  and  my  mother-in-law  would  like  to  see  the 
place." 

Walpurga  was  alarmed  at  the  danger  that  threatened  Irma,  but, 
quickly  collecting  herself,  she  said,  as  if  jesting : 

"  No,  Count ;  women  can't  go  up  there.     Such  as  we  are  can  do 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  577 

it,  of  course  ;  but,  even  then,  we  have  to  turn  our  petticoats  into 
breeches."  She  laughed  heartily,  and  Bruno  laughed,  too.  He 
imagined  his  mother-in-law  in  this  costume.  She  had  tried  many 
in  her  life,  but  never  such  an  one. 

The  only  object  of  his  errand  had  been  to  enable  him,  under 
the  pretext  of  having  received  authentic  information,  to  dissuade 
his  mother-in-law  from  her  plan  which,  if  carried  out,  would  have 
subjected  him  to  a  day  of  bitter  slavery.  He  well  knew  that,  noth- 
ing would  be  right,  and  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  swallow  her 
reproaches  and  scoldings,  just  as  if  it  were  his  fault  that  they 
chanced  now  upon  a  swamp,  now  upon  a  hill,  and  that  while,  at 
the  shepherd's  hut,  they  might  feed  their  eyes  on  mountains  of  ice, 
they  could  not  have  vanilla  ices  with  which  to  satisfy  the  palate. 
He  knew  all  about  these  pleasure  parties,  at  which  he  generally 
felt  as  if  he  must  die  of  vexation.  Walpurga  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  her  husband  to  use  all  the  means  in  his  power  to  dis- 
suade the  Count  from  visiting  their  mountain  meadow.  And  so 
when  Hansei  went  out  into  the  stable  with  the  Count,  who  was 
looking  for  his  horse,  he  laughed  till  he  showed  every  tooth  in  his 
head,  while  he  said : 

"  There  's  a  relation  of  ours  up  there,  and  she 's  a  little  bit  out 
of  her  mind." 

Walpurga  also  came  out  into  the  stable,  for  she  feared  that  her 
husband  might  betray  something.  Bruno  asked  her  whether  she 
knew  what  had  become  of  her  friend. 

Walpurga  shook  her  head  and  wept. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  can  well  say  no  one  on  this  earth  suffered 
more  for  her  sake  than  I  did." 

She  wept  so  bitterly  that  Bruno  offered  to  console  her. 

At  last  he  left. 

It  was  several  days  before  Walpurga  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  her  fright.  Again  and  again,  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  might  be 
better  if  Inna  were  found  out,  for  perhaps  she  was  quite  ill  and 
might  die  before  her  time.  But  if  she  were  discovered,  it  would 
kill  her  at  once.  This  accounted  for  her  uneasiness,  while  at  the 
hut  on  the  previous  Sunday,  and  for  her  having  enjoined  the  greatest 
caution  on  the  uncle.  She  was  constantly  pursued  by  the  thought 
that  there  would  soon  be  an  end  to  it  all.  If  one  only  knew  how 
and  what  the  end  would  be,  and  whether  anything  could  be  done. 
She  could  do  nothing.  All  she  could  do  was  to  let  what  would 
happen. 

CHAPTER     XI. 

THE  trees  in  Gunther's  garden  were  decked  witn  green,  and  the 
parterre  was  filled  with  lovely  flowers.     The  birds  were  sing- 
ing and  the  forest  stream  that  flowed  through  the  grounds  mur- 
mured as  if  regretful  at  being  obliged  to  leave  the  spot  so  soon. 
25 


578  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Within  doors,  all  was  joy  and  happiness.  Bronnen  and  Paula  were 
betrothed.  The  love  that  had  calmly  grown  and  ripened,  now  sud- 
denly burst  forth  in  all  its  glory.  Bronnen  wished  to  call  Paula  his 
own,  before  the  arrival  of  the  court,  so  that  she  might  then  feel  less 
constrained  and  have  an  opportunity  to  accustom  herself  to  the 
manners  of  the  court  circle.  It  was  not  without  fear  that  Madame 
Gunther  thought  of  her  child  entering  the  stirring  life  of  the  cap- 
ital, a  life  of  which  she  had  an  unconquerable  dread.  Bronnen 
told  the  Doctor  and  his  wife  that  he  had  found  it  easier  to  bring 
about  reform  in  politics  than  in  court  etiquette.  It  had  hitherto 
been  a  time-honored  and  unalterable  custom  that  wives  of  the  cit- 
izen class  could  not  be  presented  at  court,  no  matter  what  their 
husbands'  rank  might  be.  He  had  not  been  able  to  effect  a  change 
in  this  until  he  had  made  it  a  cabinet  question.  Gunther  smiled 
at  this  explanation.  He  knew  how  stubbornly  etiquette  resisted  all 
attempts  at  innovation.  Madame  Gunther,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
quite  alarmed  at  the  idea  that,  both  at  court  and  at  the  capital, 
Paula  would  be  the  first  lady  after  the  queen.  She  would  have 
been  far  better  pleased  if  Bronnen's  position  had  been  an  humbler 
one  ;  but  she  loved  him  with  a  maternal  affection  that  expressed 
itself  in  her  every  glance.  She  even  went  so  far  that  Gunther 
smilingly  remarked :  "  You  've  become  disloyal  to  your  own 
country — ,"  for  she  had  asserted  that  a  man  so  noble,  so  digni- 
fied, and  yet  both  firm  and  yielding  in  character,  could  only 
be  developed  under  a  monarchical  government.  "  In  a  republic," 
said  she,  "  there  is  a  certain  want  of  form  and  indulgence  of  per- 
sonal inclination.  The  self-respect  which  never  fails  in  the  respect 
due  to  others  was  the  peculiar  Truit  of  courts,  and  Bronnen  had  one 
talent  which  was  especially  calculated  to  place  every  one  at  ease 
while  with  him.  He  was  a  good  listener  and  was  always  willing 
to  wait  attentively  until  you  had  finished  what  you  wanted  to  say." 

The  joy  of  the  parents  was,  however,  but  a  mild  reflection  of 
that  of  the  betrothed.  After  Paula  had,  in  all  sincerity,  confessed 
her  fear  that  she  might  fail  to  satisfy  a  man  like  Bronnen,  she  soon 
became  calm  again,  for  she  felt  that  there  is  a  depth  of  love  which, 
including  all  that  is  highest  on  earth,  embraces  enduring  happi- 
ness. The  lovers  roamed  through  field  and  forest,  and  Bronnen 
was  again  and  again  reminded  of  the  pure  and  radiant  sentiments 
which  the  refined  and  elevated  atmosphere  of  her  home  had  firmly 
established  in  Paula.  With  every  new  chord  that  he  touched,  he 
struck  a  rich  store  of  thought  and  found  her  gifted  with  an  im- 
pressible and  receptive  mind.  He  rejoiced  in  the  destiny  which 
had  thus  directed  his  choice,  and  in  the  conviction  that  all  individ- 
ual improvement  is  achieved  and  perfected  by  mutual  effort. 

Madame  Gunther  was  with  her  husband  in  his  study,  and  would, 
now  and  then,  look  out  of  the  window  at  the  lovers,  who  were 
walking  in  the  garden. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  579 

"  Bronnen  made  a  strange  confession  to  Paula  and  me  yester- 
day," said  she.  "If  another  had  told  me  of  it,  I  would  not  have 
believed  it." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  He  told  us,  with  a  voice  full  of  emotion,  that  he  had  once  loved 
Countess  Wildenort.  Did  you  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can't  find  anything  wrong  in  it.  If  she  only  could 
have  controlled  her  impulses,  she  would  have  been  worthy  of  the 
best  of  men,  and  my  dear  Eberhard  deserved  to  have  such  a  man 
for  his  son." 

"  Tell  me,"  asked  Madame  Gunther,  "  I  Ve  never  found  the 
slightest  thing  to  object  to  in  him,  but  do  you  think  it  right  of  him 
to  tell  Paula  of  this  ?  It  will  make  her  still  more  anxious ;  she  will 
compare  herself  with  the  brilliant  Countess,  and — " 

"  Do  n't  let  that  trouble  you,  "  said  Gunther,  interrupting  her  ;  "  a 
heart  which,  like  our  child's,  is  conscious  of  the  full  power  of  love, 
possesses  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  happiness  which  no  rival,  be  she 
ever  so  great  and  brilliant,  can  disturb.  If  it  were  possible,  I  would 
think  even  more  of  him  than  I  now  do,  for  having  told  her  of  this. 
It  is  not  every  man  who  is  so  fortunate  as  I  have  been  and  whose 
first  love  is  his  only  love.  Most  of  us  are  obliged  to  pass  through 
disappointment  and  loss,  and  he  who,  like  Bronnen,  has  come 
out  of  the  ordeal,  pure  and  unscathed,  may  praise  his  lot.  The 
more  I  regard  the  world,  from  a  distance  as  it  were,  the  great- 
est misfortune  which  has  befallen  mankind  is,  that  a  life  soiled  by 
vice  should  go  on  parallel  with  that  which  is  termed  regular  and 
domestic,  creating  discord  among-,*nen,  as  well  as  in  the  individual 
mind.  If  the  race  is  to  be  saved,  a  great  revolution  must  take  place 
in  the  minds  of  men.  We  have  watched  over  our  child  so  long  and 
so  faithfully  that,  in  spite  of  all  worldly  happiness,  it  would  deeply 
grieve  me  to  see  her  bestow  her  hand  on  a  man  who,  according  to 
the  counterfeit  expression  coined  by  society,  has  led  a  fast  life. " 

Madame  Gunther  regarded  her  husband  with  a  look  of  unspeak- 
able joy.  "  I  find  that  Bronnen  has  converted  you  from  your 
aversion  to  the  military  profession,"  she  said,  in  a  soft  voice. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Gunther,  "but  Bronnen  has  not  been 
injured  by  it.  With  resolute  courage  and  an  easy  sway  over  others, 
he  combines  a  deep  and  earnest  mind.  It  is  almost  miraculous 
that,  just  when  I  desire  to  produce  in  my  work  the  image  of  a  pure 
and  active  man  of  the  present  day,  the  very  traits  I  seek  are 
found  in  the  man  who,  in  the  free  course  of  nature,  is  to  belong  to 
me.  It  seems  as  if  mysterious  agencies  provided  us  with  that 
which  the  poetic  eye  endeavors  to  portray  to  itself.  Bronnen 
seems  as  if  stepping  forth  from  my  work." 

Gunther  had  never  before  spoken  thus  of  his  work.  "Do  n't 
misunderstand  me,"  he  added;  "I  do  not  look  upon  any  one  as 
representing  the  ideal  of  perfect  manhood,  but  I  can  find  some 


58o  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

traits  in  every  one,  and  many  of  them  in  Bronnen.  Humanity,  as 
I  find  it  in  the  actual  world,  is  filled  with  beauty ;  but,  in  truth,  it 
is  still  more  beautiful,  and  I  am  glad  to  think  that  the  next  genera- 
tion will  be  better  than  our  own.  And  yet  we  may  truly  say  that 
the  good  we  have  achieved,  lives  on  with  them.  Their  enthusiasm 
will  be  less  than  ours,  but  their  moderation  will  render~it  more  en- 
during. But  I  do  not  care  to  go  too  far  into  this  subject,  at  pres- 
ent. All  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  the  feeling  of  discord,  in  modern 
times,  arises  from  the  fact  that  religion  has  exalted  faith  above 
morals,  that  art  has  pursued  a  similar  course  with  beauty,  and 
politics  with  freedom.  And  yet  they  are  one  and  inseparable,  and 
must  ever  remain  so.  I  trust  that  I*  may  yet  be  able  to  make  this 
clear  to  the  world,  and  thus  contribute  somewhat  to  the  union  of 
true  piety,  beauty  and  freedom,  with  the  morality  which  'is,  at 
present,  so  graciously  tolerated." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted,  for  Count  von  Wildenort, 
his  wife  and  mother-in-law  were  announced.  The  servant  was 
instructed  to  ask  them  to  the  garden  saloon,  and,  shortly  after- 
wards, the  visitors,  Gunther  and  his  wife,  Bronnen  and  his  be- 
trothed, were  engaged  in  lively  conversation.  Madame  Gunther 
confined  her  attentions  to  the  young  Countess,  who  had  greatly 
improved  under  Gunther's  treatment,  while  Baroness  Steigeneck 
engaged  the  lovers  in  conversation.  Madame  Gunther  would  often 
look  at  Bronnen  and  Paula  as  if  she  would  fain  brush  away  a 
caterpillar  crawling  over  them.  Bruno  addressed  Gunther  quite 
cheerfully,  and  told  him  that  during  the  royal  visit  he  would  prob- 
ably return  by  command  of  their  majesties.  This  may  have  been 
intended  as  a  hint  to  Gunther  to  bring  about  such  an  order,  for  the 
Baroness,  greatly  annoyed  by  her  exclusion  from  court,  intended 
to  return  to  her  castle,  with  her  children  and  grandchildren,  and 
then  to  vii.it  some  fashionable  watering-place.  She  was  eager  to 
reach  the  gaming-table. 

They  were  quite  long  in  taking  their  leave,  and  expressed  their 
gratitude  for  the  pleasures  they  had  enjoyed  during  their  stay, 
as  well  as  their  envy  of  those  who  could  live  here,  as  on  some 
happy  island.  At  last  they  stepped  into  their  carriage  and  drove 
off. 

After  the  visitors  had  left,  Madame  Gunther  opened  all  the  win- 
dows, in  order  that  a  current  of  fresh  air  might  carry  away  the 
Strong  perfumes  of  the  Baroness. 

Bronnen  left  the  same  evening.  The  family  accompanied  him 
for  a  short  distance.  He  and  Paula  walked  in  front,  Gunther  and 
his  wife  behind.  The  empty  carriage  followed  after  them,  and 
Bronnen  did  not  enter  it  until  he  had  taken  leave  of  his  friends. 
The  parting  was  simple  and  affectionate.  They  were  full  of  the 
joyful  memories  of  the  day  just  past,  and  looked  forward  to  future 
happy  days,  for  Bronnen  intended  to  return  with  the  king. 


ON  THh  HEIGHTS.  581 

On  the  way  home,  Paula  walked  between  her  parents,  her  cheeks 
glowing  with  excitement.  Gunther,  however,  left  his  wife  and 
daughter  before  reaching  home,  for  he  was  obliged  to  repair  to 
Count  Wildenort's  lodgings,  in  order  to  give  further  directions  to 
his  wife. 

Mother  arid  daughter  went  on  alone,  and  when  Madame  Gunther 
looked  at  her  daughter,  she  saw  that  a  silent  tear  was  in  her  eye, 
although  her  face  was  radiant  with  joy. 

"You  have  a  right  to  feel  happy,"  said  Madame  Gunther,  "you 
will  have  a  husband  fit  to  be  compared  to  your  father.  I  can  wish 
you  nothing  better  than  to  enjoy  such  happiness  as  has  been  mine, 
and  that  the  joy  I  have  had  in  my  children,  and  in  you  especially, 
may  some  day  be  yours." 

"Ah  mpther  !  "  said  Paula,  "  I  can't  realize  how  I  could  let  him 
go  away  alone,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  that  I  am  to  leave  you  and 
father  and  sister.  But  Bronnen  " — she  always  mentioned  him  by 
his  surname — "says  that  he  hopes  father  will  again  return  to  the 
capital ;  that  he  might  select  any  post  he  pleases,  for  the  king 
wishes  it." 

"  I  do  n't  think  your  father  will  consent.  But  let  nothing  of  that 
kind  distress  you,  my  dear  child.  You  may  well  be  happy,  for  your 
happiness  is  shared  by  us." 

Before  reaching  home,  they  saw  several  beautiful  horses  and 
carriages  sent  in  advance  of  the  queen,  whose  arrival  was  expected 
within  the  next  few  clays.  The  highway  had  suddenly  become  full 
of  life  and  the  little  town  was  filled  with  wondering  and  delighted 
crowds.  The  court  was  coming,  and  to  Gunther  they  were  in- 
debted for  all  this.  The  wife  and  daughter  were  respectfully 
greeted  by  all  whom  they  met,  and,  even  in  the  distance,  one  could 
see  the  townsfolk  pointing  them  out  to  the  recently  arrived  court 
servants,  who  also  greeted  them  quite  obsequiously. 

Further  on,  they  met  a  vehicle  which  seemed  as  if  it  belonged 
to  fairyland.  Two  tiny  bay  ponies,  with  short-clipped  black  manes 
and  gay  trappings,  were  harnessed  to  a  little,  low-wheeled  carriage. 
As  if  divining  what  was  going  on,  the  children  appeared  at  the 
farmhouses  and  rushed  across  the  meadows  and  fields,  to  admire 
the  crown  prince's  fairy-like  equipage,  and  followed  it  through  the 
town,  where  the  crowd  of  joyous,  shouting  children  grew  larger  and 
larger,  until  they  at  last  reached  the  dairy-farm.  Paula  looked  on 
with  a  smile.  She  stopped  with  her  mother  before  a  house,  the  sign- 
board on  which  announced  that  it  was  the  new  telegraph  office. 
Here,  thought  she  to  herself,  the  messages  she  would  send,  and 
those  she  would  receive  after  leaving  her  paternal  home,  would 
pass.  • 

The  telegraph  poles  which  Irma  had  seen  the  workmen  putting 
up  near  the  farm,  had  been  erected  on  account  of  the  queen's  in- 
tended summer  sojourn  in  the  neighborhood. 


582  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  the  first  telegram  reached  the 
little  town.  It  was  addressed  to  Paula  and  was  as  follows : 

"  I  dedicate  the  electric  spark  to  the  service  of  love.  I  am  well, 
and  send  greetings  to  you,  your  father,  mother  and  sister. 

"BROXNEN." 

CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  school  children  were  ranged  under  the  fruit  trees  on  either 
side  of  the  road.     Bells  were  ringing,  music  resounding,  can- 
non firing,  and  the  rugged  mountains  echoed  back  the  merry-  din. 

It  was  the  queen's  entry. 

She  sat  in  an  open  carriage  drawn  by  four  white  horses.  The 
prince,  a  boy  with  golden  hair  and  fresh  complexion,  sat  by  her 
side.  The  carriage  stopped  at  the  boundary  line.  A  maiden 
dressed  in  the  becoming  costume  of  the  country,  welcomed  the 
queen  in  a  poem  of  the  schoolmaster's  composition,  and  pre- 
sented her  with  a  bouquet  of  alpine  flowers.  The  queen  graciously 
accepted  the  bouquet.  She  bowed  in  all  directions  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  child.  The  prince  followed  her  example,  saying  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  town  council  and  all  the 
catholic  and  evangelical  ministers  present :  "  God  greet  you  !  " 

Cheers  resounded  again  and  again,  and  their  path  was  strewn 
with  flowers. 

The  queen  drove  through  the  little  town,  which  was  decorated 
with  flags  and  garlands.  On  her  arrival,  she  found  that  the  court 
cavaliers  who  had  preceded  her  were  in  waiting,  and  that  Gunther 
was  among  them.  For  the  first  time  since  his  return,  he  wore  the 
marks  of  the  various  grand  orders  to  which  he  belonged.  After 
passing  under  a  triumphal  arch,  the  carriage  stopped  and  the  queen 
alighted. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  Gunther,  who  would  gladly  have  kissed 
it ;  but  he  turned  to  the  prince  and  kissed  him.  He  was  so  agi- 
tated that  he  could  not  speak  a  word.  At  last  he  said : 

"  I  bid  Your  Majesty  welcome  to  my  home  !  " 

"  Wherever  you  are,  there  is  home,"  replied  the  queen. 

She  passed,  leading  her  boy  by  the  hand. 

Countess  Brinkenstein,  Lady  Constance,  and  other  court  ladies, 
also  exchanged  greetings  with  Gunther.  There  were  others,  how- 
ever, who  were  more  recently  appointed  and  whom  Gunther  did 
not  know. 

The  queen  and  her  immediate  suite  soon  reached  the  great  ter- 
race, which  commanded  a  delightful  view  of  mountain  and  valley. 
Gunther  pointed  oQt  the  direction  of  the  mountain  range  and  the 
intervening  valleys.  He  also  told  her  the  names  of  the  principal 
peaks  and  would,  here  and  there,  add  a  few  items  of  historical  in- 
terest. He  was  presenting  the  chiefs  of  his  native  home  to  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  583 

queen.  Evening  soon  set  in  and  the  lofty  heights  were  bathed  in 
the  warm  hues  of  the  glorious  sunset.  They  were  silent  for  a  few 
moments,  while  they  gazed  up  at  the  heights,  and  little  did  they 
think  of  her  who  had  been  dreamily  looking  thence  out  into  the 
wide  world,  and  who  had  just  been  startled  by  the  echo  of 
the  guns  from  the  neighboring  cliffs.  There  must  be  some  joyous 
feast  going  on  down  there,  she  thought,  and  she  who  had  once 
moved  among  this  circle,  and  had  not  been  the  least  admired  in  it, 
lived  within  herself,  in  silence  and  solitude. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  population  of  the  town  and  the  outly- 
ing neighborhood  had  gathered  at  the  park  railing,  in  order  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  queen.  All  that  pertained  to  her,  be  it  her 
horses,  her  carriages,  or  her  servants,  inspired  them  with  wonder 
and  admiration. 

At  the  sound  of  the  evening  bell,  the  men  took  off  their  hats 
and,  after  a  silent  prayer,  all  proceeded  homeward. 

It  was  soon  night.  The  party  had  dispersed  and  the  queen 
asked  Gunther  if  there  was  not  some  way  to  get  to  his  house 
without  going  through  the  town.  Gunther  replied  that  the  king 
had  had  a  path  made  around  the  hill. 

.The  queen  looked  down.  The  king's  thoughtful  care  pleased 
her.  Had  he  been  present  at  that  moment,  she  would  have  spoken 
to  him  more  kindly  than  she  had  for  many  a  day. 

"I  should  like  to  visit  your  family,"  said  the  queen. 

"  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  bringing  them  to  Your  Majesty  to- 
morrow." 

"  The  evening  is  so  charming;  let  us  go  to  them  now." 

The  queen,  attended  by  Gunther  and  numerous  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  court,  took  the  new  path  that  led  to  the  Doctor's 
dwelling. 

"  Had  you  not  better  send  word  to  your  ladies  that  the  queen  is 
about  to  visit  them?"  said  Countess  Brinkenstein  to  Gunther. 
Although  the  laws  of  etiquette  were  sometimes  relaxed  during  her 
visit  to  the  country,  the  informal  manner  in  which  the  queen  set 
about  paying  this  visit  seemed  opposed  to  all  rules. 

Gunther  graciously  declined  following  out  her  suggestion. 

He  was  proudly  conscious  of  the  fact  that,  at  whatever  time  the 
queen  and  her  suite  might  enter  his  house,  they  would  find  his 
wife,  his  house  and  his  children  prepared  to  receive  them. 

Clever  Stasi,  the  inspector's  wife,  had,  however,  heard  where 
they  were  going,  and  hurried  to  tell  Madame  Gunther  who  was 
coining. 

When  the  visitors  arrived,  the  garden  saloon  was  brilliantly 
lighted  and,  at  the  garden  gate,  they  were  met  by  Madame  Gun- 
ther, who  was  attended  by  both  of  her  daughters.  Their  reception 
of  the  queen  was  respectful  and  reverential,  although  it  may  not 
have  Irjen  strictly  in  accordance  with  that  prescribed  by  court 
forms. 


584  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  could  not  wait,"  said  the  queen. — Her  voice  seemed  clearei 
and  brighter  than  before.—"  1  felt  that  I  must  see  you  to-day  and 
offer  you  my  congratulations.  You,  I  presume,  are  the  affianced 
of  Minister  Bronnen  ?"  said  she,  addressing  Paula. 

Paula  bowed  so  correctly  that  Countess  Brinkenstein  could  not 
repress  a  nod  of  approval.  The  queen  extended  her  hand  to  Paula 
and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"  I  shall  now  see  you  often,"  she  added,  "and  it  will  be  pleasant 
to  remember  that  I  've  known  you  in  your  home." 

She  beckoned  Madame  Gunther  to  draw  near,  and,  accompanied 
by  her,  walked  about  the  garden. 

"  And  so  I  see  you  to-day,  for  the  first  time,"  said  the  queen. 
"  I  trust  that  you  do  not  look  upon  me  as  a  stranger  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty,  it  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  address  a 
queen,  and  I  entreat  you — " 

"  Your  husband  has  been  as  a  father  to  me,  and  I  wish  that  you, 
too —  But  let  us  leave  it  to  the  future  to  determine  our  impressions 
of  each  other.  Permit  me,  however,  to  request  you  to  cast  aside  a 
little  of  your  Swiss  prejudice  against  royalty." 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  am  a  citizen  of  your  country." 

"  I  am  delighted  that  our  first  meeting  is  in  your  own  house. 
Do  you  still  sing  much  ?  I  've  been  told  that  you  used  to  sing 
beautifully." 

"Your  Majesty,  I  've  left  that  to  the  younger  voices  of  my  chil- 
dren. Paula  sings." 

"  How  charming  !  I  have  long  regretted  that  none  of  the  ladies 
of  our  more  immediate  circle  sing  well." 

Like  a  passing  shadow,  the  thought  of  Irma  flashed  through  the 
queen's  mind.  She  was  standing  by  the  stream  that  flowed  down 
from  the  mountain  meadow,  and  which  here  noisily  rushed  by. 

The  queen  remained  in  the  pavilion  but  a  short  time.  "\Yhen  she 
was  about  to  leave,  she  said  to  Madame  Gunther : 

"Will  you  not  accompany  me  part  of  the  way?" 

"  Xo,  I  thank  Your  Majesty." 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow.  Good  night.  Let  us  be  good 
neighbors." 

The  queen  left. 

Gunther  well  knew  how  the  ladies  of  the  court  would  discuss  his 
wife's  great  breach  of  decorum  in  declining  to  comply  with  the 
queen's  expressed  wish.  But  he  did  not  say  a  word  to  his  wife 
about  it,  for  he  knew  that  he  could  permit  her  to  have  her  own  way. 
He  felt  sure  that  she  would  always  do  what  was  right,  and  that,  if 
she  did  disregard  certain  conventionalities,  she  would  nevertheless 
manage  even-thing  for  the  best.  Indeed,  the  very  fact  of  her  hav- 
ing gently  repelled  the  queen's  exceedingly  gracious  advances,  was 
doubly  reassuring  to  him. 
"I  am  glad,"  said  Madame  Gunther  to  her  husband,  when  they 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  585 

were  together  in  the  drawing-room,  "that  Paula  becomes  intro- 
duced to  court  life  while  yet  in  her  father's  house.  The  queen 
really  impresses  me  as  a  noble  creature." 

Gunther  assented,  and  added  that  Paula  had  already  proven  how 
well  she  had  profited  by  Bronnen's  advice.  For  Bronnen  had  told 
her  that,  in  order  to  be  free  at  court,  one  must  make  its  trifling 
forms  a  sort  of  second  nature,  so  that  they  can  be  practiced  with- 
out special  stress  or  difficulty;  and  that,  in  fact,  they  must  be 
mastered  just  as  one  masters  the  grammar  of  his  native  tongue. 

In  the  silent  moonlight  night,  Paula  was  heard  singing,  with  full 
voice  and  passionate  expression,  the  concluding  verses  of  the  song 
of  Goethe's,  the  song  that  Bronnen  admired  above  all  others : 

Crown  of  existence, 
Joy  without  rest, 
Love  art  thou. 

jn  yonder  heights,  whither  no  voice  from  below  reached,  there 
sat  a  solitary  one,  and  through  her  mind  there  passed  a  song 
of  the  same  master's — the  song  of  songs,  in  which  the  soul  is  freed 
from  all  its  burdens,  and  is  again  united  with  enduring  nature : 

O'er  hill  and  dale, 
Thy  splendor  falls ; 
No  longer  care 
My  heart  enthralls. 

The  court  ladies  at  the  dairy-farm  kept  up  their  talk  until  a  late 
hour.  Those  who  had  not  been  permitted  to  accompany  the  queen 
envied  the  others,  who  had  enjoyed  an  early  opportunity  of  meeting 
Bronnen's  affianced.  What  could  there  have  been  in  the  citizen's 
daughter  to  tempt  Bronnen,  who  might  have  had  the  hand  of  the 
highest  in  the  land  ?  Some  pronounced  her  awrkward,  others  too 
confident,  and  doubts  were  expressed  as  to  her  beauty.  The 
younger  ladies  were  jokingly  informed  that,  for  many  days  to  come, 
Doctor  Gunther  would  have  a  parade  of  sentiment  and  universal 
ideas,  and  this,  too,  au  grand  serieux. 

The  moon  shone  brightly  on  the  mountains  and  the  valleys. 
Everything  was  hushed  in  slumber.  The  only  sounds  heard  were 
the  gurgling  of  the  springs,  the  murmuring  of  the  stream  and,  now 
and  then,  a  mountain  cry  from  the  heights  above. 

A  bright  day  dawned. 

Gunther  visited  the  queen  at  an  early  hour.  For  the  next  few 
weeks,  he  had  determined  to  sacrifice  his  quiet  mornings.  He  was 
quite  willing  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  his  friend,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  a  resumption  of  his  wonted  employments,  after  her  depart- 
ure. 

He  was  again  sitting  on  the  terrace,  as  he  had  been  one  morning 
five  years  ago ;  but  this  time,  instead  of  looking  at  the  distant 
25* 


586  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

mountains,  he  was  surrounded  by  them,  and,  as  she  had  then  done, 
the  queen  now  again  appeared  in  a  white  morning  robe  and  greeted 
him.  But  her  whole  being  had  changed  ;  her  step  was  freer,  her 
words  more  decided. 

"  We  shall  make  no  programme  of  what  we  intend  to  do  here," 
said  she,  as  she  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  with  Gunther; 
"  we  '11  take  life  as  it  comes." 

She  told  him  howT  pleased  she  was  to  have  made  the  acquaintance 
of  his  wife  and  daughters,  and  that  she  thought  he  had  done 
wisely,  while  at  the  capital,  in  keeping  his  home  life  and  his  life  at 
court,  as  far  as  possible,  distinct  from  each  other.  Memories  of 
1  rma  again  seemed  to  cast  a  passing  shadow  over  the  bright  morn- 
ing, for  the  queen  well  knew  that  Gunther  had  introduced  her  to 
his  family.  It  seemed  as  if  the  memory  of  Irma  were  not  yet  fully 
banished  and  buried. 

"  I  trust  Your  Majesty  will,  nevertheless,  permit  me  to  draw  up 
a  little  programme,"  said  Gunther.  "It  has  but  one  paragraph. 
Permit  me  to  explain  it.  I  've  never  been  able  to  express  myself 
in  writing  on  this  matter.  I  can  only  do  so  in  person.  I  have  to 
accuse  myself  of  having  done  you  a  great  wrong." 

"  You  ?     A  great  wrong  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  relieves  me  to  confess  it  to  you.  Your  Majesty,  I 
do  not  enquire  as  to  your  present  relations  with  your  royal  consort. 
The  fact  that  he  has  prepared  all  this  for  you,  and  the  manner  in 
which  it  has  been  done,  proves  his  delicate  feeling." 

"  And  I  admit  it  willingly,  but  still  I  cannot — " 

"  I  am  obliged  to  interrupt  you,  Your  Majesty,  for  that  which  I 
request  of  you  is  that  we  shall  never  more  speak  of  your  relations 
to  his  majesty.  Long  ago,  when  you  were  torn  by  an  inner  struggle, 
I  believed  that  if  I  could  only  induce  you  to  encourage  freer  and 
more  liberal  views,  a  clearer  mental  vision  would  better  enable  you 
to  be  just  towards  others,  and  would  be  followed  by  returning 
love.  And  it  wTas  just  there  that  I  was  wrong,  for  I  offended 
against  a  simple  but  fundamental  principle :  feelings  cannot  be 
governed  by  thought.  And  were  it  otherwise,  the  interference  of  a 
third  party  should  always  be  rejected.  The  attempted  mediator 
only  widens  the  breach.  Husband  and  wife  can  alone  repair  it. 
And  now,  Your  Majesty,  let  us  speak  no  more  of  this  matter,  for 
thus  only  can  we,  without  feeling  embarrassed,  meet  each  other,  or 
the  king  himself.  Your  own  heart  is  your  only  confidant.  Follow 
its  dictates  and  do  not  be  frightened  back  by  any  apparent  aliena- 
tion or  change  of  feeling  !  Will  you  grant  me  the  favor  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And  now  not  another  word  on  the  subject." 

They  conversed  freely  and  cheerfully,  as  if  they  had  both  laid 
aside  a  burden  which  had  heavily  rested  upon  them. 

The  crown  prince  was  brought  in.  Gunther  was  delighted  with 
his  healthy  appearance  and  promised  him  a  playmate  who  was  born 
on  the  same  day  as  himself. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  587 

"Mamma,  why  haven't  I  a  little  sister?"  asked  the  crown 
prince. 

The  color  rose  to  the  queen's  cheeks. 

"Little  Cornelia  is  to  be  your  sister,"  she  replied,  and  gave 
orders  that  they  should  take  the  prince  to  visit  the  child  at  the 
Doctor's  house. 

Gunther's  parting  instructions  to  Madame  von  Gerloff  were  that 
the  children  should  be  shown  the  bird's  nest  in  the  rosebush.  The 
prince  asked  permission  to  take  Schnipp  and  Schnapp  with  him, 
and  the  two  children  were  soon  driving  through  the  valley,  in  the 
pretty  little  carriage,  a  little  groom  managing  the  horses  and 
a  little  outrider  in  front.  At  noon,  Madame  Gunther  and  her 
daughters  visited  the  queen.  Little  by  little,  a  common  in- 
terest in  their  pleasures,  aided  by  the  invigorating  influences  of 
nature,  helped  to  bring  about  a  uniform  tone  of  feeling,  and  thus 
to  level  distinctions  which  would  be  more  closely  observed  in  city 
circles. 

The  days  sped  by  pleasantly.  The  queen  felt  no  craving  for  un- 
wonted pleasures  ;  and  every  hour  was  complete  in  itself. 

The  queen,  one  day,  told  Madame  Gunther  that  she  was  the  first 
citizen's  wife  with  whom  she  had  been  on  terms  of  familiar  inti- 
macy, and  that  she  could  not  help  admiring  her  clear,  good  sense. 

"I  must  tell  you  something  of  my  youth,"  replied  Madame 
Gunther,  to  whom  this  condescending  praise  was  quite  a  surprise. 

"  Pray  do  so,"  said  the  queen,  encouragingly. 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  was  betrothed  and  happy.  Wilhelm  was 
traveling  during  his  vacation  and  we  often  wrote  to  each  other. 
One  day,  I  received  a  letter  from  him  which  offended  my  pride  and, 
indeed,  deeply  wounded  me.  I  had  indulged  in  excessive  sensi- 
bility and,  in  reply,  he  quoted  the  words  of  Lessing  which  Nathan 
addresses  to  the  Knight  Templar :  '  Mediocrity,  like  ours,  can  be 
found  in  abundance  everywhere  ! ' ' 

"  And  did  that  offend  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty ;  it  offended  me  deeply.  Gunther  is  with- 
out a  trace  of  that  false  modesty  which  is  all  the  more  vain,  the 
more  modest  it  appears.  He  stood  so  high  in  my  esteem  that  I 
felt  he  had,  by  using  this  expression,  committed  an  offense  against 
himself  and,  I  may  confess  it,  against  myself,  as  well.  I  did  n.ot 
regard  myself  as  mediocre,  but  as  a  highly  gifted  being.  But 
from  that  time,  I  began  to  perceive  that  most  suffering  arises  from 
1  he  fact  that  those  who  have  understanding,  culture,  and  some  tal- 
c.nt,  regard  themselves  as  belonging  to  a  higher  order  of  beings, 
privileged  to  disregard  ordinary  barriers  and  to  step  beyond  their 
allotted  sphere  of  duty.  To  acknowledge  myself  as  mediocre,  and 
to  shape  my  own  actions,  and  my  judgment  of  others,  accordingly, 
has  ever  been  my  rule  in  life  ;  and  I  must  beg  Your  Majesty  to  re- 
gard me  in  the  same  way.  There  are  thousands  of  women  like 


588  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

me.  It  is  just  as  it  is  in  singing.  I  Ye  sung  in  a  chorus,  and  kncnv 
there  are  many  good  voices  who  never  aspire  to  solos." 

The  queen  was  silent.  The  words  which  Madame  Gunther  had 
uttered  in  perfect  sincerity,  might  be  applied  in  so  many  different 
ways— to  herself,  to  the  king,  and  to  her  who  was  still  unforgotten. 

At  last  she  looked  up  frankly. 

"  1  have  a  request  to  make  of  you,"  she  said,  with  faltering-  voice, 
while  she  took  out  a  breastpin  with  a  large  pearl.  "Oblige  me 
by  accepting  this  memento  of  this  hour  and  of  the  truth  which 
you  have  just  imparted  to  me." 

"Your  Majesty,"  replied  Madame  Gunther,  "  I  have  never  in  all 
my  life,  accepted  a  present  of  this  kind.  But  I  can  easily  under- 
stand that  you,  as  a  queen,  are  accustomed  to  experience  the  joy 
of  bestowing  gifts  on  others  and  of  thus  making  them  happy.  I 
accept  it  as  a  symbol,  as  if  it  were  an  unfading  flower  from  your 
garden." 

Madame  Gunther  wended  her  way  homeward,  in  a  calm  and 
contented  mood.  When  she  arrived  before  the  house,  she  sud- 
denly stopped.  The  windows  of  the  large  drawing-room  were 
open.  Some  one  was  playing  the  piano  with  powerful,  masterly 
touch  and  expression.  It  could  not  be  Paula.  Who  could  it  be  ? 

Madame  Gunther's  nephew,  the  young  man  whose  song  Irma 
had  sung  years  before,  and  who,  on  a  prev  ious  visit  to  his  relatives, 
had  sought  the  freeholder's  dwelling  as  a  refuge  from  the  storm, 
and  had  there  met  Irma  without  knowing  who  she  was,  had  now, 
as  had  been  foretold  him,  become  totally  blind.  He  had  become 
a  master  of  the  piano,  and  bore  his  sad  fate  with  manly  fortitude. 
The  meeting  between  Madame  Gunther  and  her  nephew  was 
deeply  affecting. 

That  evening,  she  introduced  him  to  the  queen,  who,  as  her  first 
act  of  friendship  to  the  Doctor's  wife,  appointed  him  "  pianist  to 
the  queen."  All  that  remained  was  to  submit  the  appointment 
to  the  approval  of  the  king,  wrho  was  expected  to  arrive  in  a  few 
days. 

CHAPTER     XIII. 

THE  king  had  arrived  during  the  night.  In  order  to  avoid  the 
pomp  of  a  reception,  he  came  unannounced.  He  regarded 
himself  as  the  guest  of  the  queen,  for  whom  alone  he  had  ordered 
the  preparation  of  this  modest  summer  retreat. 

On  the  following  morning,  Gunther,  decorated  with  his  orders, 
repaired  to  the  farm. 

He  felt  that  the  tone  of  their  little  circle  must  suffer  a  change  by 
the  advent  of  any  new  comer,  even  if  possessed  of  a  more  yielding 
disposition  than  that  of  the  king. 

Gunther  had  not  seen  the  king  since  he  waited  upon  him  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  589 

thank  him  for  the  order  he  had  conferred  upon  him.  He  was 
composed.  One  point  in  favor  of  court  forms  is  that  they  are 
fixed  and  unalterable,  as  well  as  independent  of  passing  moods. 

Gunther's  path  led  along  the  slope  of  a  projecting  hill  and,  on 
the  way,  his  thoughts  involuntarily  recurred  to  Eberhard.  The 
early  hour,  the  mountain  air,  and  the  close-fitting  uniform — all  were 
just  as  they  had  been  years  ago. 

Eberhard  had  always  maintained  that  unmeaning  politeness  is 
only  disguised  rudeness.  He  required  that  every  word  and  act 
should  come  from  the  depths  of  one's  soul,  and  that,  at  every  mo- 
mciit,  life  should  be  truthful.  During  the  years  he  had  spent  in 
solitude,  Gunther  came  to  perceive  that  the  concessions  he  had 
made  to  his  surroundings,  had,  to  a  certain  extent,  involved  failure 
to  comply  with  this  precept.  He  now  found  his  greatest  happiness 
in  being  perfectly  truthful  towards  himself  and  the  world,  and  for 
this  reason,  in  the  work  in  which  he  expected  to  sum  up  the  re- 
sults of  his  life,  he  had  expressed  his  feelings  without  reserve  or 
disguise. 

When  his  eye  fell  on  the  farmhouse,  he  paused  to  collect  his 
thoughts.  He  was  about  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  man  who  had 
endeavored  to  degrade  him. 

The  king  stood  at  the  open  window  and,  when  he  saw  Gunther 
approach,  was  greatly  agitated.  If  the  dignity  that  befits  kings 
had  not  forbidden  it,  he  would  gladly  have  called  out  a  welcome 
to  the  man  whom  he  esteemed  so  highly ;  and  if  kingly  dignity  re- 
quires this  much,  it  also  possesses  one  great  advantage — for  while 
he  who  desires  admittance  still  waits,  he  who  grants  it  maintains 
his  natural  freedom,  or,  in  other  words,  is  at  home  while  the  other 
is  as  a  stranger. 

Gunther  sent  in  his  name,  and  was  at  once  admitted.  The  king 
advanced  to  meet  him,  and  said  : 

"  Welcome,  my  dear  privy  councilor  !  I  am  heartily  glad — 
He  faltered  at  the  words  and,  as  if  changing  his  mind,  added  :  "  I 
am  delighted  to  have  an  opportunity  to  wish  you  joy !  One 
scarcely  knows  whether  to  say  that  you  deserve  such  a  son  as 
Minister  Bronnen,  or  that  he  deserves  such  a  father  as  you.  It 's 
all  the  same,  I  suppose,"  he  concluded  with  a  smile  which  seemed 
somewhat  forced. 

"  I  humbly  thank  Your  Majesty — "  Gunther  also  hesitated,  for 
it  was  a  long  while  since  he  had  used  this  phrase — "for  the  inter- 
est you  have  graciously  manifested  in  me  and  mine." 

The  king  and  Gunther  met  under  changed  and  mutually  em- 
barrassing circumstances,  and  congratulations  on  Bronnen's  en- 
gagement seemed  to  afford  a  convenient  subject  of  conversation. 
It  was,  nevertheless,  followed  by  a  pause,  in  which  the  two  men 
who  had  been  separated  for  two  years,  eyed  each  other  as  if  each 
would  again  impress  his  memory  with  the  features  which,  for  many 


590  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

years,  he  had  seen  almost  daily.  Gunther  had  changed  but  little. 
His  beard  was  short,  thick  and  of  a  snowy  white.  The  king's 
figure  was  fuller  than  it  had  been.  His  face  wore  a  deep  and 
earnest  expression  which  harmonized  with  his  winning  and  amiable 
deportment.  His  movements  seemed  to  have  gained,  rather  than 
lost,  in  elasticity  and  vigor. 

"I  hear,"  said  the  king,  resuming  the  conversation,  "that  you 
are  engaged  on  a  great  philosophical  work,  and  I  feel  that  we  have 
reason  to  congratulate  ourselves  thereat,  for  that  will  afford  us  an 
opportunity  to  enjoy  those  fruits  of  your  thought  which,  in  our 
daily  intercourse,  we  are  now  deprived  of." 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  am  reviewing  my  life  and  striking  a  balance. 
In  some  respects,  there  is  more,  in  others,  less  than  I  had  reason 
to  hope  for.  I  live  within  myself,  and  am  happy  to  think  that,  when 
I  look  out  into  the  world,  I  can  perceive  that  those  who  are  called 
for  great  purposes  can  show  a  clear  balance  sheet." 

"Growth  is  slow,"  said  the  king.  "While  driving  through  the 
fields  yesterday,  I  thought  to  myself:  how  long  it  takes  before  the 
blade  of  corn  becomes  the  ripened  ear.  We  cannot  see  how  much 
it  grows  with  each  day.  We  can  only  note  the  result." 

Smiling,  and  perfectly  unconstrained,  he  added  :  "  I  am  impart- 
ing my  latest  observations  to  you.  It  seems — it  seems — as  though 
it  were  but  yesterday,  since  we  last  met.  Let  us  go  into  the 
garden." 

On  the  way,  the  king  asked  :  "  How  do  you  find  the  prince  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  well-built  frame  and,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  his  mental 
development  is  normal  and  healthy." 

In  consequence  of  the  long  years  of  separation  and  the  linger- 
ing feeling  of  reserve,  there  were  frequent  breaks  in  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  You  have  again  been  living  among  the  people,"  said  the  king, 
"  and  has  your  experience  satisfied  you  that  the  popular  mind  (or, 
in  other  words,  popular  simplicity  in  thought  and  manners)  is  the 
divinely  appointed  corrective  of  the  errors  of  a  higher  civiliza- 
tion ?"' 

Gunther  looked  up  as  if  amazed.  \Vas  the  question  an  idle  one, 
or  did  a  deeper  significance  underlie  it  ?  Had  the  king  not  suc- 
ceeded in  conquering  his  dislike  of  popular  verdicts  ?  Or  did  he — 
as  a  proof  of  returning  royal  favor — merely  intend  to  afford  the 
man  whom  he  had  so  deeply  injured,  an  opportunity  to  gratify  his 
vanity  by  ventilating  his  opinions? 

Quick  as  lightning,  these  thoughts  flashed  through  his  mind. 
After  a  short  pause,  he  replied  : 

"With  Your  Majesty's  permission,  let  me,  before  proceeding  to 
answer  you,  state  the  question  more  distinctly." 

"  Pray  do  so." 

A  pause  ensued,  just  as  if  they  were  trying  and  tuning  inner 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  591 

instruments  which,  coming  from  unequal  temperatures,  had  not  yet 
been  brought  into  harmony  with  each  other ;  for  although  both 
men  were  calm  and  self-controlled,  their  moodswere  not  in  accord. 

"If  by  the  term  'popular  mind,'  you  mean  those  views  and 
states  of  feeling  which  are  not  based  upon  scientific  laws  or  art 
traditions,  but  which  seem  as  fixed  and  unchangeable  as  the  forces 
of  nature  ;  and  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  apply  the  term  'correct- 
ive '  to  that  which  separates  us  from  all  that  is  alien  or  effete,  and 
leads  us,  as  it  were,  back  to  nature — I  am  prepared  to  answer 
your  question  as  well  as  I  know  how." 

"  I  am  entirely  satisfied  with  the  form  in  which  you  put  the 
question,"  replied  the  king.  "I  often  think  that  discussions  are 
barren  of  results,  simply  because  the  question  was  vaguely  or  im- 
perfectly stated  at  the  start." 

Gunther  nodded  a  smiling  approval  of  these  words. 

"  And  now  for  the  answer,"  asked  the  king,  all  attention. 

"  Although  I  may  seem  to  wander  from  the  point,  I  shall  soon 
return  to  it.  The  event  from  which  it  dates,  forms  a  turning  point 
in  the  history  of  mankind.  Unlike  all  that  went  before,  the  central 
figure  which  later  generations  have  idealized,  and  from  which  they 
have  drawn  inspiration,  was  not  born  on  Olympic  heights.  Jesus 
was  born  in  a  manger,  and  yet  kings  performed  pious  pilgrimages 
to  the  spot.  The  fact  that  the  Spirit  which  is  innate  with  the  pure 
man,  could  even  be  born  in  a  manger,  among  the  dumb  animals 
devoted  to  domestic  use,  is  an  enduring  proof  of  pure  democracy, 
or  of  nobility  in  that  which  is  lowly.  If,  however,  the  manger 
were,  henceforth,  to  be  regarded  as  alone  holy,  or  the  forms  and 
surroundings  of  popular  life  be  accepted  as  the  only  abode  of  the 
eternal  spirit,  or  the  embodiment  of  holy  nature  itself,  it  would  be 
a  perversion  of  truth,  a  new  orthodoxy,  another  schism.  This  much 
always  remains  ;  the  spirit  of  truth  appears  everywhere — in  the 
manger  and  in  the  pillared  temple,  in  the  library  of  the  student 
and  on  the  royal  throne  in  the  glittering  palace.  Buddha,  who 
was  one  of  the  greatest  benefactors  and  regenerators  of  mankind, 
and  who,  in  the  realm  of  caste,  maintained  the  equality  of  human 
rights,  was  the  son  of  a  king. 

"  And  now  to  return  to  the  question.  Whenever  a  form  of  civili- 
zation has  attained  its  highest  development  and  begins  to  show  its 
defects,  the  idea  of  complete  revolution  suggests  itself.  None  but 
violent  methods  are  thought  of,  and,  while  the  only  object  to  be 
gained  is  the  bringing  about  of  regeneration,  by  means  of  strata 
which  have  not  yet  been  exhausted,  and  which  bring  new  strength 
to  bear,  it  is  deemed  necessary  to  go  back  to  the  beginning  of  all 
things.  But  the  lower  strata  cannot,  of  themselves,  effect  this  re- 
generation. What  is  required  of  them  is  to  be  constantly  sending 
fresh  strength  to  those  above  them.  The  great  masses,  considered 
as  such,  cannot  renew  civilization.  All  that  they  can  do  is  to  fur 


592  O.V  THE  HEIGHTS. 

nish  new  material.  It  is  only  in  a  limited  sense  that  the  masses  aic 
the  hearers  of  the  spirit  of  the  people.  Individual  men,  who  have 
ever  preserved  their  childlike  simplicity  of  soul,  just  as  they  received 
ii  from  nature,  and  through  subsequent  development  have  retained  it 
unimpaired,  will  now  and  then  rise  from  among  the  masses.  But 
the  scientific  spirit  must  be  united  with  this  childlike  feeling,  and 
then  an  epoch,  or  an  individual,  forms  a  node  by  which  this  devel- 
opment is  not  interrupted  but  from  which  it  seems  to  take  a  new 
start,  forming,  as  it  were,  a  new  growth  on  the  old  stem.  It  is  not 
the  people,  as  a  mass,  but  a  certain  man  or  circle  that  concentrates 
the  spirit  of  the  people  within  itself,  and  renews  the  same  individ- 
ually." 

"Is  not  that  aristocracy  ?  "  asked  the  king,  in  a  soft,  almost  hes- 
itating voice. 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  dread  no  term  or  idea  that  seems  to  be  the  re- 
sult of  logical  consistency.  Call  it  an  aristocracy,  if  you  will,  but 
it  is  a  democratic  one,  ever  renewing  itself.  For  those  who,  from 
generation  to  generation,  represent  the  spirit  of  the  people,  are  not 
taken  from  the  same  sphere." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  king,  stopping  in  front  of  a  rose-bush. 
"  It  is  just  as  here,  where  ever)'  year  brings  forth  new  shoots  that 
bear  the  roses.  But  pardon  me,  I  interrupted  you  !  " 

"I  have  only  to  add,"  said  Gunther,  "that  while  the  masses, 
considered  as  such,  are  the  bearers  of  civilization,  the  highest  de- 
velopment of  this  civilization  is  brought  about  by  the  few  who  are 
called  and  chosen  for  the  task.  To  make  my  meaning  clearer : 
He  who  is  of  average  size,  is  not  tall,  and  he  who  possesses  gen- 
eral culture  has  naught  that  distinguishes  or  elevates  him  above 
the  rest" 

"  But  who  measures  and  passes  upon  such  claims  to  such  distinc- 
tion ?  "  asked  the  king. 

"  In  science  and  art,  it  is  the  sense  of  being  called  to  do  certain 
things,  the  individual  impulse  and  energy  that  give  shape  to  ideas 
which  others  have  only  imperfectly  conceived,  and  which,  when 
they  have  once  found  utterance,  the  masses  gladly  accept  as  their 
own.  In  state  affairs,  this  call  is  conveyed  by  means  of  elections, 
which  have  never  before  obtained  to  the  same  extent  as  at  present. 
It  is  of  great  advantage  that  the  occasional  call  to  vote  is  opposed, 
or  rather,  held  in  check,  by  the  call  which  is  founded  on  historic 
claims.  But.  whenever  the  latter  fails  to  be  at  one  with  the  for- 
mer, it  mistakes  its  strength,  and  at  last  falls." 

The  king  walked  on  in  silence,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground. 
Even  thing  tended  to  prove  that  there  is  a  united  mind,  or  totality 
of  thought,  which  is  and  must  be  more  powerful  than  any  individ- 
ual mind.  There  was  no  longer  the  faintest  suspicion  that  this 
conclusion  was  the  result  of  an  idle  question. 

Although  the  king  walked  on  in  silence,  the  break  in  the  con- 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  593 

versa! ion  was  not  caused  by  an  unresolved  dissonance,  jarring  his 
soul's  depths. 

lit  was  lost  in  thought,  for  he  had  learned  how  to  make  a  new 
truth  his  own  by  reflection,  instead  of  dismissing  it  with  light  and 
trilling  conversation. 

"May  I  ask,"  said  the  king,  in  a  voice  that  betokened  great 
diffidence  " — may  I  ask  whether  the  views  which  you  have  just  im- 
parted to  me,  and  which  have  furnished  me  with  much  food  for 
future  thought,  are  to  "be  more  fully  expounded  in  the  work  on 
which  you  are  now  employed  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Your  Majesty." 

"  Then  allow  me,  at  once,  to  pass  to  a  question  that  concerns 
our  little  life  and  that  portion  of  history  which  we  are  to  help 
make." 

The  king  folded  his  arms  and  continued  : 

"  Let  me  be  frank  with  you.  You  have  refused  the  position 
of  Minister  of  Education  offered  you  by  Minister  lironnen.  1  can 
well  imagine  that  you  do  not  care  to  sacrifice  science  to  the  labors 
of  a  bureau.  Would  you  perhaps  prefer — excuse  me,"  said  the 
king,  with  an  unconstrained  smile,  "  excuse  me  for  using  your  favor- 
ite expression,  I  did  it  quite  unawares — might  I  offer  you  the  posi- 
tion of  President  of  the  Academy  ?  " 

"  I  humbly  request  Your  Majesty  not  to  consider  me  as  ungrate- 
ful, but  I  have  determined  never  again  to  enter  the  busy  world.  Be- 
sides that — Your  Majesty  knows  that  I  have  no  false  modesty — I 
frankly  acknowledge  that  my  long  continued  attention  to  work  of 
a  practical  nature  has,  to  so  great  an  extent,  prevented  me  from 
keeping  up  my  scientific  studies,  that  I  could  not  do  justice  to  the 
position  so  graciously  offered  me.  I  beg  Your  Majesty  to  permit 
me  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  life  in  retirement.  I  have  become  an 
author  and  desire  to  remain  one.  " 

"  I  should  willingly  accord  you  perfect  liberty  to  express  your 
sentiments  regardless  of  consequences.  " 

"  I  know  that  very  well,  Your  Majesty,  and  at  once  avail  myself 
of  it  by  telling  you  that  liberty  which  is  accorded  us  is  not  perfect 
liberty.  In  any  elevated  position  under  the  state,  I  would  be 
obliged  to  respect  Your  Majesty's  wishes  and  also  to  have  regard 
to  my  son's  position.  I  entreat  you,  therefore,  to  permit  me  to  be 
ai.  author  and  remain  one;  nothing  more.  " 

The  king's  features  betrayed  his  displeasure.  He  had  done  his 
utmost,  had  shown  by  deeds  how  glad  he  would  be  to  repair  the 
effects  of  his  former  hasty  conduct,  and  here  again  he  was  met  by 
the  obstinacy  he  had  so  often  encountered.  Did  the  man  expect  to 
hear  the  king  say  :  "  I  repent  ;  pardon  me  !  "  ? 

An  angry  reply  rose  to  the  king's  lips,  but  he  checked  himself. 
Ciunther  quickly  saw  what  was  going  on,  and  esteem  for  the 
changed  being  who  was  now  standing  before  him,  made  his  eye 
glisten, 


594  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

The  king  had  not  once  mentioned  the  queen's  name.  He  had  not, 
as  would  have  been  so  natural,  asked  him  who  had  been  her  phy- 
sician for  many  years,  what  he  thought  of  her  appearance.  Gun- 
ther  was  just  on  the  point  of  mentioning  her,  when  the  king,  con- 
tracting his  brows,  asked  : 

"  Have  you  ever  committed  an  act  which  you  repented  of?  " 

"  Your  Majesty — my  name  is  Wilhelm  Gunther.  My  life  has  been 
a  hard  struggle  and  I  have  often  stumbled.  I  have  been  young 
and  have  grown  old,  and  have  come  to  see  that  all  men  receive 
their  true  deserts.  " 

"  And  has  it  proven  so  in  your  case  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty,  I  thank  you  for  asking  me  that  question. 
And  now  let  me  confess. — What  I  am  about  to  say  is  without  the 
slightest  tinge  of  bitterness.  When  I  regard  a  fact  as  accomplished, 
I  have  done  with  it.  I  therefore  speak  of  it  without  embarrassment, 
just  as  if  I  were  explaining  the  operation  of  some  law  of  nature. 
Yes,  Your  Majesty,  I  have  richly  deserved  all  that  has  happened  to 
me.  I  was  most  graciously  dismissed  from  Your  Majesty's  favor, 
and  it  was  but  just  that  it  should  be  so. " 

"  That  was  not  what  I  meant.  I  had  no  desire  to  allude  to  it. 
On  the  contrary — " 

"  Permit  me,  Your  Majesty,  to  explain  the  logical  line  of  justice, 
as  I  have  understood  it.  Under  deeply  painful  circumstances,  I 
misconceived  my  duty  as  a  man,  and  as  the  friend  and  servant  of 
Your  Majesty." 

"  You  ?  "  asked  the  king. 

"  Yes,  I  !  And  that  I  meant  it  for  the  best,  is  no  excuse.  We 
all  mean  to  be  good,  but  we  have  all  of  us  an  equal  right  to  be 
wise.  I  endeavored  to  lead  the  queen  to  an  elevated  plain,  from 
which  the  petty  events  of  life  would  appear  trifling  and  easily- 
borne.  It  was  a  grievous  error.  It  was  my  duty  to  avoid  all  in- 
terference, unless  I  could  avert  the  impending  conflict.  You  acted 
rightly  and,  at  the  same  time,  benefited  the  queen  by  sending  me 
away.  Isolated  from  every  influence,  even  that  of  a  friend,  she 
could  not  but  gain  strength  as  she  has  done." 

A  tear  glistened  in  the  king's  eyes.  He  pressed  his  left  hand  to 
his  heart,  as  if  to  repress  a  thought  that  he  did  not  care  to  reveal. 

"I  am  happy,"  said  he  at  last,  "that  my  life  has  made  me  ac- 
quainted with  such  men  as  you  and  our  dear  Bronnen.  We  only 
partially  make  ourselves  what  we  are.  Consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously, we  are  formed  by  those  with  whom  we  associate." 

He  pressed  Gunther's  hand  in  his,  and  Gunther  was  happy  to 
feel  that  the  king's  heroic  self-glorification  was  completely  subdued 
• — the  king's  confession  being  a  convincing  proof  of  this. 

"  Papa  !  "  called  a  boy's  voice  from  the  terrace,  "  Papa  !  " 

They  turned  in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice  had  come. 
The  queen,  surrounded  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  her  court. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  595 

was  sitting  on  the  terrace.  With  anxious  eyes,  she  had  followed 
every  movement  of  the  two  men.  What  might  they  be  speaking 
of?  Were  these  Elysian  days  to  be  disturbed  by  the  old  and  un- 
forgotten  wrong? 

And  now,  when  she  saw  the  king  take  Gunther  s  hand  in  his 
own  and  hold  it  for  a  long  while,  she  embraced  the  prince,  kissed 
him,  and  then  said  : 

"  Call  papa." 

The  two  men  turned  around  and  with  calm  and  happy  counte- 
nances, the  sight  of  which  was  even  more  refreshing  than  that  of 
the  beautiful  and  lofty  mountains,  came  upon  the  terrace.  The 
king  kissed  the  queen's  hand,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  years,  she 
pressed  it  against  his  lips. 

When  Gunther  was  taking  his  leave,  the  king  said  : 

"  Present  my  compliments  to  your  wife.  I  shall  pay  you  a  visit 
to-day,  before  dinner." 

Madame  Gunther  was  amazed  when  her  husband  informed  her 
that  the  king  was  coming.  In  spite  of  all  explanations,  she  could 
not  understand  how  her  husband  could  thus  forgive  and  forget  the 
injury  that  had  been  put  upon  him — for  she  could  not  help  looking 
upon  it  as  an  injury  and  an  affront,  even  though  Gunther  did  not 
so  regard  it.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  he  was  unable  to  change 
her  opinion.  In  Gunther's  forgiving  mood,  she  thought  she  de- 
tected a  spirit  of  submissiveness  which  was  only  possible  under  a 
monarchy.  Her  old  republican  feelings  were  aroused. 

The  king  and  the  queen  came.  The  king  found  Madame  Gun- 
ther's behavior  shy  and  reserved.  He  could  not  know  that  she  still 
regarded  him  with  suppressed  wrath.  Was  this  the  man,  and 
ought  there  really  to  be  one  on  earth,  who  could  appoint  or  dismiss 
Gunther  at  will  ?  They  were  standing  by  the  stream  that  flowed 
through  the  garden,  when  the  king  said  to  Gunther : 

"  I  am  told  that  the  crown  prince's  nurse  lives  in  this  neighbor- 
hood. Will  you  not  have  her  come  here  some  time  ?  " 

"  Her  majesty  the  queen  does  not  wish  to  see  her,"  replied  Gun- 
ther. 

"  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"It .lies  in  the  echo  of  certain  sad  memories,"  replied  Gunther; 
and  this  passing  allusion  to  Irma  was  the  only  time  she  was  men- 
tioned. In  the  short  pause  that  followed  these  words,  the  stream 
murmured  louder  than  before,  as  if  it,  too,  had  something  to  say. 

On  the  second  evening  after  the  king's  arrival,  Bronnen  came, 
accompanied  by  the  intendant,  and  found  the  whole  circle  happy 
and  complete. 

A  certain  observance  of  form  lent  an  added  charm  to  country 
life.  With  constant  freedom,  there  was  yet  the  protecting  presence 
of  the  accompanying  court  circle  and  servants.  Wherever  they 
fixed  their  resting-place,  and  wherever  they  lighted  a  fire  in  the  for- 


596  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

est,  for  the  little  prince's  amusement,  a  numerous  body  of  sen-ants 
was  always  present,  forming  a  ring"  to  keep  off  intruding  strangers. 
Paula's  manner  was  calm  and  composed.  Her  ever)'  movement 
evinced  power  and  grace.  She  neither  thrust  herself  forward  nor 
shunned  observation.  The  knowledge  that  she  was  in  her  own 
home  lent  charming  confidence  to  her  deportment. 

During  the  evening,  Gunther's  blind  nephew,  whose  appointment 
as  pianist  to  the  queen  had  been  confirmed,  played  in  a  masterly 
manner. 

On  the  following  morning  he  took  his  first  leave  of  absence,  in 
order,  as  he  said,  with  a  smile,  to  look  about  the  neighborhood  and 
visit  old  acquaintances. 

The  king  prepared  to  go  hunting. 

CHAPTER     XIV. 

IT  was  in  the  morning.  Gundel  was  telling  her  father  how 
strange  cousin  Irmgard  was.  She  hardly  ever  spoke  a  word  ; 
she  tasted  scarcely  anything  but  a  little  milk,  fresh  from  the  cow ; 
and  she'  seemed  so  strange.  She  would  lie  for  hours  out  on 
the  cliff,  where  she  could  get  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  lake.  The 
little  pitchman  was  also  puzzled  by  Irma's  behavior.  For  some 
time  past  she  had  done  no  work,  and  had  given  up  going  with  him 
vvhen  he  went  out  to  gather  herbs. 

"  I  'd  like  to  ask  the  great  doctor  down  there — the  one  I  fetch 
the  herbs  for — what  I  ought  to  do,"  said  he,  "but  Walpurga  says 
I  shan't.  Besides  that,  I  do  n't  see  that  there  's  anything  the 
matter  with  our  Irmgard.  I  thought  of  trying  something,  but  I 
don't  know  whether  it  would  do  any  good  with  a  human  being. 
Now  if  a  beast  gets  sick,  all  you  Ye  got  to  do  is  to  cut  out  the  sod 
that  he  's  lying  on  and  turn  it,  and  then  the  beast  will  get  well 
again.  I  wish  I  knew  whether  that  would  help  a  human  being." 

"  Oh  father  !  "  replied  Gundel,  "  that 's  awful.  1  'm  afraid  they  '11 
soon  put  the  sod  on  our  dear  Irmgard.  She  's  so  good  ;  and  when 
you  speak  to  her,  it  seems  as  if  she  has  to  stop  to  think  of  what 
you  're  saying,  and  make  up  her  mind  what  to  answer." 

Thus  they  talked  together,  and  then  separated  to  go  about  their 
work  for  the  day,  while  Irma  lay  on  her  blue  rug,  now  looking  out 
at  the  wide  world,  now  closing  her  eyes  and  thinking  and  dreaming 
to  herself.  Her  life  was  a  voiceless  calm,  as  if  she  were  part  of 
the  animate  and  inanimate  world  about  her ;  as  if  she  always  had 
been  and  ever  would  remain  here :  a  child  of  man,  to  whom  no 
flower,  no  living  thing  on  earth,  nor  bird  soaring  in  the  air  was  un- 
known. The  mountains,  the  clouds,  the  bright  day,  the  starry 
night — all  were  dear  and  familiar  to  her. 

Irma,  as  was  her  wont,  was  lying  on  the  mossy  slope.  She 
gized  into  the  distance  and  then  her  eyes  sought  the  ground  to 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  597 

watch  the  busy  life  stirring  among  the  blades  of  grass  and  the 
mosses.  Now  and  then,  she  would  unconsciously  raise  the  mould 
with  her  finger  and  find  pine-needles  which  had  accumulated  for 
years  and  years,  and,  below  them,  the  ddbris  of  plants  that  had  been 
decayed  since  the  world  began ;  hers  was  the  first  human  eye  that 
rested  upon  them. 

The  cows  often  approached,  and  grazed  nearby  without  disturbing 
her.  She  could  hear  their  breathing,  and  yet  did  not  move.  Now  and 
then,  the  leading  cow  would  stand  before  her  and,  with  head  lifted 
on  high,  gaze  at  the  distant  landscape.  Then  it  would  go  on  feed- 
ing, and,  at  times,  would  keep  the  fodder  in  its  mouth  as  if  it  had, 
while  looking  at  the  prostrate  form,  forgotten  that  it  wanted  to  eat. 

Awake  or  dreaming,  a  wonderful  life  opened  up  to  Irma.  The 
more  she  rested,  the  greater  was  her  yearning  for  rest.  Indescrib- 
able weariness  seemed  to  have  seized  upon  her.  Work  and  thought 
wearied  her  as  they  had  never  done  in  all  the  years  she  had  passed 
in  the  world.  She  often  tried  to  arouse  herself,  but  could  not. 
She  found  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  this  feeling  of  heaviness,  in  this 
resting  on  the  ground.  Hundreds  of  songs  and  entire  musical 
works  passed  through  her  mind.  Myriad  thoughts  arose  and 
floated  away  with  the  light  breath  of  air.  Nothing  could  be  seized 
and  retained. 

It  was  hot  noonday.  The  heat  was  intense.  There  was  not  a 
breath  of  air,  even  up  among  the  mountains,  and  the  cows  were 
resting  in  the  shade.  Irma  had  walked  out  alone.  The  little 
pitchman  had  gone  to  town  to  deliver  some  parcels  of  herbs. 
Irma  wandered  on  further  and  further,  and  at'  last  reached  the 
source  of  the  brook.  She  was  sitting  by  the  broad  basin  into 
which  the  water  fell,  and  which  reflected  the  dark  shadows  of  the 
overhanging  trees.  Irma  bent  forward  and  saw  her  image  reflected 
in  the  water.  It  was  the  first  time,  in  many  years,  that  she  had 
seen  it  and  she  now  greeted  it  with  a  smile.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
was  stirring ;  not  a  sound  was  heard. 

Irma  looked  about  her,  and  then,  hurriedly  undressing  herself, 
plunged  into  the  water.  She  swam  about,  dived  and  rose  to  the 
surface  again,  and  a  feeling  of  unexpected  delight  came  over  her. 
Only  the  sun  that  shone  through  the  branches  for  a  moment,  be- 
held that  wondrous  lovely  form. 

All  was  silent  again.  Irma  had  dressed  herself  and  lay  dreamily 
at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  while  sweet  melodies  passed  through 
her  soul. 

Suddenly,  she  heard  her  name  called  again  and  again,  and  in  a 
loud  voice.  She  answered  as  loud  as  she  could,  and  at  last  Gun- 
del  came  up  and  said  : 

"  Irmgard,  come  to  the  cottage  right  away.  There  's  a  gentle- 
man there  with  a  servant,  and  he  wants  to  speak  to  you." 


598  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Irma,  who  had  partly  raised  herself,  lay  down  again.  She  felt  a 
heart  pang.  What  could  it  be  ?  Had  her  time  come  ?  and  must 
she  again  return  to  the  busy  world  ? 

She  arose  to  her  feet  and  asked  : 

"  Do  n't  you  know  who  it  is  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  says  he  spent  the  night  with  us  some  years  ago. 
He  's  a  tall,  handsome  young  man  ;  but,  poor  man,  he  's  stone 
blind." 

"The  blind  man  wandering?  "  thought  Irma  to  herself,  turning 
towards  the  hut. 

"  God  greet  you  !  "  cried  she,  while  still  distant. 

"Yes,  that 's  your  voice,"  replied  the  blind  man,  stretching  out 
his  arms  and  opening  and  closing  his  hands.  "  Come  !  Come 
nearer.  Give  me  your  hand  ! "  He  quickly  drew  off  his  gloves 
with  his  teeth,  and  his  face  wore  a  strange  expression.  Irma 
drew  near  and  took  his  delicate,  white  hand  in  hers. 

"  Your  hand  trembles  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Does  it  frighten  you 
to  see  me  blind  ?  " 

Irma  could  not  speak,  and  nodded  as  if  the  blind  man  could  see 
what  she  did. 

The  sun's  rays  fell  directly  upon  the  face  of  the  unfortunate  one, 
and  his  sightless  eyes  stared  into  vacancy. 

"You  've  grown  thinner  than  you  were,"  said  the  blind  man. 
"  May  I  pass  my  hand  over  your  face  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Irma,  closing  her  eyes. 

"  You  're  not  as  beautiful  as  you  were  two  years  ago.  Your  eye- 
lids are  hot  and  heavy.  You  must  have  been  grieving.  Can  I 
help  you  ?  I  'm  not  rich,  but  I  can  still  do  something." 

"Thank  you.  I  've  learned  to  help  myself."  Being  addressed 
in  High  German,  Irma  had  involuntarily  replied  in  pure  German, 
without  a  trace  of  dialect. 

The  stranger  started,  turned  his  head  to  the  right  and  left,  and, 
while  doing  so,  stretched  out  his  neck  so  far  that  it  was  almost  un- 
pleasant to  look  at  him. 

Taking  him  by  the  hand,  Irma  led  him  to  the  bench  in  front  of 
the  cottage.  She  felt  a  tremor  while  holding  this  fine  and  delicate 
hand  in  hers,  but,  gathering  all  her  strength,  she  repressed  it.  She 
sat  down  by  the  blind  man,  and  asked  him  how  he  had  happened 
to  come  there. 

"You  remember,"  said  he,  "that  when  I  was  with  you  last.  I 
knew  what  my  fate  wrould  be.  I  wrestled  with  myself  for  a  long 
while  and  learned  to  know  how  to  bear  it.  We  know  that  WTC  must 
all  die,  and  yet  we  can  be  cheerful ;  and  I  knew  that  I  must  lose  my 
sight  and  became  cheerful,  too." 

Irma  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Do  you  understand  what  I  mean  ?  "  asked  the  blind  man. 

"Yes,  indeed,     Go  on,  I  like  to  hear  your  voice." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  599 

^^^ff  ^  **fc  .?  &.    J 

"  I  knew  it,  and  that 's  why  I  have  come  to  you.  I  was  down 
at  the  farm,  but  they  were  all  out  harvesting,  and  the  child's  maia 
told  me  that  you  were  up  here,  and  so  I  came  to  you.  I  walked  a 
good  part  of  this  way  before,  when  I  was  overtaken  by  the  storm, 
and  I  can  now,  in  memory,  renew  the  pleasure  with  which  I  once 
beheld  these  mountains.  What  I  then  told  you  I  intended  to  do, 
has  come  to  pass.  I  have  all  the  beautiful  landscapes  within  me. 
I  can  see  the  sparkling  sunlight,  the  brook  leaping  over  the  rocks,  the 
sparkling  lake,  and  the  trees  standing  s^de  by  side  in  the  peace- 
ful forest.  I  kept  constantly  telling  my  guide  where  we  were.  He 
was  quite  beside  himself  to  think  that  I  knew  it  all  so  well.  But 
the  best  of  it  all  is  that  I  have  beautiful  human  images  in  my 
mind.  My  greatest  desjre  was  to  see  you  once  more.  I  say  '  to 
see  you/ — I  mean,  to  hear  you  speak,  but  I  see  you  when  you 
speak." 

Irma  replied,  telling  him  how  well  she  understood  and  sym- 
pathized with  him  ;  and  when  she  spoke  to  him  of  the  difficulty  of 
walking,  how  the  groping  foot  first  seeks  the  ground  before  the 
muscles  are  straightened  to  take  a  step,  the  blind  man  asked,  with 
surprise : 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  ?  "  He  again  stretched  out  his 
head  and  bent  it  back  in  the  same  unpleasant  manner  as  before. 

"  I  once  knew  a  blind  man  who  told  me.  It  is  terrible  to  think 
that  you  're  obliged  to  depend  upon  a  stranger.  Blind  Gloster  im- 
plores his  guide  not  to  forsake  him." 

"  Maiden  !  Who  are  you  ?  Was  it  you  who  spoke  ?  It  was 
your  voice — or  is  there  some  one  with  you  ?  How  do  you  know 
that  ?  " 

"  I  read  it  once,"  said  Irma,  biting  her  lips  till  the  blood  almost 
came.  "I  read  it  once,"  she  repeated,  forcing  herself  to  use  the 
dialect  again. 

The  blind  man's  head  bent  low  and  he  held  his  hands  between 
his  knees.  A  convulsive  movement  passed  over  his  fine  youthful 
features,  as  if  tears  were  ineffectually  struggling  to  escape.  He 
leaned  his  head  back  against  the  wall,  and  at  last  said  : 

"  So  you  can  read,  and  so  intelligently.  Could  you — ?  No,  I  '11 
not  ask  you." 

"Ask  me  what  you  will.  I  feel  kindly  towards  you  and  have 
often  thought  of  you." 

"  Did  you  ?  You,  too  ?  "  cried  he  hurriedly,  while  he  moved  his 
head  about  in  the  same  strange  manner  as  before.  "  Maiden  !"  said 
he,  "  give  me  your  hand  once  more.  Tell  me,  could  you  give  me 
this  hand  and  let  your  eyes  be  mine  ?  " 

"Good  sir,"  said  Irma,  interrupting  him,  "I  should  like  to  feel 
that  your  coming  here  and  your  going  hence  were  for  the  best.  'I 
think  that  I  can  and  ought  to  tell  you  all.  This  is  the  second  time 
I  've  seen  you — " 


6oo  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  I  've  seen  you  but  once,  and  yet  I  snail  never  forget  your  face, 
said  the  blind  man. 

"  Come  with  me.  I  '11  lead  you,  and  when  we  're  alone  I  '11  tell 
you  all  and  prove  how  grateful  I  am  for  your  kindness." 

"  There  must  be  a  spot  somewhere  hereabouts,  from  which  a 
glimpse  of  the  lake  beyond  the  mountains  can  be  obtained,"  re- 
plied the  blind  man.  "  Can  you  lead  me  there?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Irma,  startled  at  this  wonderful  inner  life. 
She  led  him,  across  the  meadow,  to  the  mountain  side. 

"Sit  down  here,"  said  she,  "and  I  '11  sit  beside  you.  What  I 
am  about  to  tell  you  is  for  you  alone.  Remember,  only  for  you  !" 

He  raised  his  hand  and  exclaimed  :  "  I  swear  !  " 

"  You  need  no  oath,"  replied  Irma.  "  Know  then  that  I  am  one 
\vho  has  vanished  from  the  fashionable  world.  Ask  not  for  my 
name.  Life  in  all  its  splendor  was  mine,  and  yet  I  walked  in 
darkness.  I  was  a  wretched  worldling !  I  had  sunk  so  low  that 
I  sought  to  destroy  myself.  If  it  were  only  possible,  I  would 
gladly  fly  away  with  you — just  as  the  birds  are  flying — through  the 
rosy,  golden  glow  of  evening,  and  vanish  into  infinite  space.  But 
I  've  learned  to  know  that  life  is  a  duty,  and  that  all  we  have  and 
are  in  this  world  depends  upon  our  finding  the  world  within  our- 
selves and  ourselves  in  the  world.  You  now  bear  the  world  within 
you,  where  none  can  take  it  from  you.  We  can  call  nothing  ours, 
unless  we  possess  it  in  that  way.  And  when  death  comes  at  last, 
it  takes  nothing  from  us,  but  simply  gives  us  back  to  the  world — " 

"Maiden  !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  the  blind  man,  "what  are  you 
doing?  Who  are  you?  No  mortal  speaks  thus!  Must  I  be- 
come superstitious  ?  Must  I  believe  in  angels  ?  Is  there  some 
one  with  you  ?  Who  can  it  be  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Give  me  your 
hand  !  " 

"Be  calm  :  't  is  I,"  said  Irma,  offering  him  her  hand,  which  he 
kissed  again  and  again.  She  withdrew  it  and,  passing  it  ove.  his 
face,  said : 

"  Be  calm.  I  've  merely  looked  out  into  the  world  just  as  you 
have  already  done,  and  while  we  sit  here — two  children  of  the  world 
and  yet  forgotten  by  it — we  are  happy,  for  we  belong  to  eternity. 
May  you  be  happy,  and  may  your  soul,  on  wings  of  music,  soar 
far  above  all  earthly  cares  !  Take  my  hand  once  more.  Come,  let 
me  lead  you  hence." 

Without  littering  a  word  on  the  way,  he  suffered  Irma  to  lead 
him  towards  the  cottage. 

When  they  reached  't,  he  called  for  his  guide  and  his  servant,  in 
a  tone  of  authority. 

"  Are  you  going  already?  "  asked  Irma. 

Leaning  on  his  servant's  arm,  he  left  the  cottage  without  an- 
swering her. 

She  again  offered  him  her  hand  with  the  words :  "  The  world  in 
us,  and  ourselves  in  the  world  !  " 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  601 

His  only  reply  was  a  nod,  his  features  again  twitched  convulsively, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  repress  his  tears. 

He  had  already  proceeded  as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  woods,  when 
he  turned  around  and  called  out : 

"  Come  here,  maiden.     I  Ve  something  to  tell  you." 

She  went  up  to  him  and  he  said : 

"I  'ma  nephew  of  Doctor  Gunther,  who  wds  formerly  physician 
to  the  king,  and  now  lives  but  a  short  distance  from  here,  in 
yonder  little  town.  I  live  with  him  and  am  pianist  to  the  queen. 
If  you  ever  need  help,  send  to  me,  or  to  my  uncle.  He  '11  help 
you,  I  am  sure.  But,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  mention  you  to 
no  one." 

Having  said  this,  he  hurriedly  turned  on  his  heel  and,  leaning  on 
his  servant,  descended  the  mountain. 

Irma  remained  there,  looking  after  him. 

Was  Gunther  alive  ?     And  in  her  very  neighborhood  ? 

And  now  another  being  carried  her  half-disclosed  life-secret 
about  with  him. 

The  blind  man  entered  the  woods  and  soon  disappeared  from 
view.  Irma,  with  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  returned  to  her  resting- 
place,  where  she  remained  gazing  into  the  dim  distance  until  night 
approached. 

Over  in  the  woods,  she  beheld  a  strange-looking,  gray  cloud  with 
white,  glowing  edges.  It  stood  as  firmly  as  if  it  were  a  wall.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  exhaled  from  the  earth,  a  gust  of  wind  arose,  so  violent 
that  the  trees  bent  under  its  force. 

She  hurried  towards  the  cottage,  and  found  that  the  little  pitch- 
man had  returned. 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  '11  have  a  storm  to-night,"  said  he.  "  The  moon 
isn'.t  up  yet  and  doesn't  rise  till  late,  and  that 's  a  sign  of  bad 
weather." 

He  went  out  again,  in  order  to  drive  in  the  cows.  The  boy  had 
gone  after  the  goats,  which  had  strayed  off  for  some  distance. 

CHAPTER     XV.  ' 

u  TTOW  the  wind  blows!"  exclaimed  Gundel,  quite   out   of 
11   breath.     It  had  required  all  her  strength  to  close  the  door. 
"What  a  storm  !     There  never  was  such  a  gust  before.      Why, 
the  wind  's  just  as  hot  as  if  it  were  blown  out  of  an  oven." 

She  got  up  quickly  and,  filling  a  cup  with  water,  emptied  it  on 
tlu:  fire  that  burned  on  the  hearth. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  cried  Irma. 

"We  must  n't  have  a  fire  now,"  replied  Gundel,  and,  after  that, 
they  sat  there  in  the  dark  room,  almost  stifled  by  the  smoke,  for 
the  storm  raged  so  wildly  that  they  dared  not  open  a  window. 

"  If  father  were  only  home,"  said  Gundel ;  "  I  hope,  for  God's 
sake,  he  '11  get  home  safe  !  " 
26 


602  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Her  last  words  were  drowned  by  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder  that 
reverberated  from  the  mountains,  with  a  crash  as  if  the  whole 
world  were  being  destroyed.  And  now  the  wind  raged  and 
stormed  more  violently  than  before.  The  firmly  built  hut  seemed 
to  totter,  the  roof  trembled,  and  one  of  the  great  boulders  with 
which  it  had  been  secured  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Give  me  your  hand  !  "  cried  Gundel,  in  the  dark.  "  If  we  must 
die — let's  pray."  She  prayed  aloud,  but  the  crashing  thunder 
drowned  her  voice.  Suddenly  the  noise  changed,  and  it  sounded 
as  if  countless  iron  hammers  were  descending  on  the  roof;  the 
rattling,  pounding,  and  rumbling  created  a  furious  din. 

"That 's  hail !  "  shrieked  Gundel,  putting  her  mouth  to  Irma's 
ear. 

The  thunder  and  hail  continued,  and,  ever  and  anon,  the  light- 
ning would  flash  through  the  smoke  and  darkness,  causing  the 
two  girls  to  appear,  in  each  other's  eyes,  as  if  transported  to  the 
infernal  regions.  The  hailstones  seemed  to  impel  each  other  for- 
ward. Now  they  would  descend  with  mighty  force  ;  then  the  fury 
of  the  storm  would  abate  and  they  would  fall  more  gently  and 
steadily  than  before,  as  if  the  raging  mountain  demon  had  stopped 
to  take  breath,  before  again  venting  his  ire  on  the  mortals  who  had 
ventured  to  build  a  cottage  on  his  lofty  domain. 

The  lowing  of  the  cows  and  the  ringing  of  their  bells  were  heard 
above  the  rattling  hail. 

"  I  opened  the  stable-door,  but  the  wind  must  have  blown  it 
shuf,"  exclaimed  Gundel ;  and,  forgetting  her  own  trouble,  she 
hurried  out.  She  came  back  in  a  hurry  and,  placing  an  inverted 
pail  on  her  head,  went  out  again.  Irma  followed  her  example,  and 
the  two  of  them  ducked  their  heads  while  the  great  hailstones 
rattled  against  the  pails.  Gundel  tried  to  open  the  stable-door,  but 
the  cows  crowded  about  her  so  that  she  was  thrown  to  the  ground. 
In  the  midst  of  the  noise,  Irma  heard  Gundel's  piercing  cry.  The 
bellowing,  trembling  leader  cow  was  standing  near  Irma. 

"Come  along!  "  said  Irma,  seizing  the  cow  by  one  of  its  horns. 
It  obeyed  her,  and  the  other  cows  made  way.  Irma  found  Gundel, 
and,  having  helped  her  up,  the  two  opened  the  stable-door,  but 
were  almost  crushed  to  death,  for  the  cows  all  tried  to  get  in  at 
once.  They  each  had  but  one  hand  free,  as  the  other  was  needed 
to  hold  the  pail.  They  succeeded  in  getting  to  the  wall  and,  at 
last,  when  all  the  cows  were  in  the  stable,  the  two  girls  waded 
through  the  hail  with  which  the  ground  was  thickly  covered,  and 
regained  the  cottage.  They  groped  about  until  they  found  the 
hearth  and  sat  down  by  it.  And  the  two  lonely,  forlorn  children 
sat  there  in  the  dark,  while  the  storm  raged  without. 

"I  feel  sure,"  cried  Gundel,  "that  father  must  have  found  shel- 
ter somewhere.     He  knows  even"  overhanging  rock  and — O  God  ! 
she  suddenly  cried,  "just  think  of  the  poor  blind  man,  out  in  such 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  603 

weather !  Has  the  hail  cut  your  hand  and  back,  the  way  it  did 
mine?  "  said  she,  crying,  and  nestling  close  to  Irma. 

"No,  I  feel  nothing,"  replied  Irma,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if 
physical  pain  could  not  affect  her.  She,  too,  had  thought  of  the 
blind  man,  and  also  of  the  king  whom  filial  ingratitude  had  turned 
out  into  the  stormy  night.  But  hail  or  wind  were  not  half  so  vio- 
lent as  her  regret  that,  yielding  to  pity,  she  had  allowed  a  man  to 
pass  his  hand  across  her  face. 

Is  all  lost  again  ?  Is  all  that  has  cost  so  great  a  struggle,  sacri- 
ficed ?  wofully  asked  an  inner  voice — and  yet  she  felt  conscious  of 
her  purity. 

"  Thank  God  !  it 's  only  raining  now,"  said  Gundel,  at  last.  She 
struck  a  light,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other,  as  if  they  had  just 
emerged  from  depths  of  darkness.  The  floor  was  wet  with  the 
water  that  had  dripped  from  their  clothes. 

"Are  you  at  home ?"  exclaimed  a  voice  from  without.  The 
door  opened  and  the  little  pitchman  entered,  carrying  a  young  kid 
in  his  arms. 

"  Thank  God !  you  're  safe  and  sound,"  he  exclaimed,  laying 
the  kid  down  by  the  empty  fireplace.  With  his  sleeve,  which 
was  far  wetter  than  either,  he  wiped  the  water  from  his  eyes  and 
forehead.  Then  he  took  a  bottle  of  gentian  brandy  from  the  up- 
per shelf  and,  after  taking  a  drink,  and  forcing  Gundel  and  Irma  to 
do  likewise,  he  went  on  to  say :  "  I  Ve  gone  through  a  good  deal 
in  my  time,  but  never  anything  like  this.  I  know  every  tree  and 
every  rock  for  miles,  but  I  seemed  to  have  lost  my  way.  While  I 
stood  there  in  the  midst  of  the  storm,  I  heard  a  chamois  doe  bleat- 
ing pitifully,  and  I  went  up  to  her  and  there  she  stood,  with  the 
young  kid  that  had  just  been  born.  It  had  hardly  come  into  the 
world,  before  the  hail  tried  to  beat  it  to  death.  When  the  mother 
saw  me,  she  ran  away,  but  came  back  again  and  placed  herself  over 
the  young  kid,  so  that  the  hail  should  n't  strike  it,  but  her  instead. 
I  went  near  her,  but  the  mother  ran  away  again.  I  picked  up  the 
young  one  and,  just  as  we  were  going  on  to  look  for  shelter,  I 
heard  human  voices.  Two  people  were  calling  to  a  third  one,  who 
was  roaring  and  screaming.  When  the  lightning  flashed,  I  saw 
that  he  was  lying  on  the  ground,  unable  to  move. 

"'Honored  master,  just  lean  on  us;  we  '11  soon  find  shelter,'  I 
heard  them  saying,  and  when  the  lightning  flashed  again,  I  saw  that 
we  were  near  the  Witches'  Table.  So  I  called  out  to  them:  '  The 
Witches'  Table  is  over  yonder.'  Then  there  was  another  flash, 
and  I  saw  that  the  two  men  who  had  been  standing  had  also  fallen 
down.  They  told  me,  afterward,  that  they  had  been  afraid  of  me, 
and  I  couldn't  think  hard  of  them.  In  such  a  storm,  and  on  such 
a  night,  one  would  almost  believe  in  anything.  I  went  up  to  them, 
told  them  who  I  was.  and  offered  to  lead  them.  It  was  hard  work, 
though,  to  get  along,  for  the  blind  man  went  on  as  if  crazed,  and 


6o4  a\*  THE  HEIGHTS. 


kept  talking  about  a  lost  child.  At  last,  safe  and  sound,  but  drip- 
ping with  water,  we  got  under  the  Witches'  Table,  and  there  we 
lay.  And  whenever  it  lightened  we  could  see  the  hailstones  danc- 
ing on  the  rocks  and  beating  against  the  trees.  We  waited  until 
it  stopped  hailing,  and  the  blind  man  told  me  that  the  next  time  I 
came  down  to  the  apothecary's,  in  the  town,  he  would  give  me  a 
gold  piece.  The  king  's  there  and  so  is  the  queen.  He  promised 
to  see  to  it  that  I  should  get  the  medal  for  saving  a  life,  and  a  pen- 
sion, in  the  bargain,  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  And  now,  children, 
get  to  bed,  for  you  're  soaking  wet.  What  ails  you,  Irmgard? 
Why  do  you  shiver  so  ?  " 

The  little  pitchman  scolded  Gundel  for  having  let  cousin  Irmgard 
sit  about  in  her  wet  clothes.  Now  and  then  the  little  kid  would 
cry  piteously  and  shiver  all  over,  so  that  the  little  pitchman  brought 
down  his  bed  cover  from  the  hay-loft  and  wrapped  the  kid  in  it. 
Then,  with  three  fingers,  he  cleverly  fed  it  with  milk  from  a  dish. 

The  little  kid  was  soon  asleep,  and,  in  the  room  within,  Irma  was 
sleeping  too. 

"  Thank  God,  you  've  had  a  good  sleep,"  said  Gundel,  who  was 
standing  at  Irma's  bedside,  late  on  the  following  morning.  "  How 
strange  it  seems!  The  hail  didn't  hurt  you  a  bit;  and  just  see 
how  I  look."  She  showed  the  marks,  but  quickly  added  :  "  That 's 
no  matter;  it'll  soon  be  over.  Just  look  at  the  sky!  Don't  it 
look  as  if  it  never  could  do  any  harm.  Over  by  the  stream,  the 
lightning  struck  a  tree  and  split  it  in  two,  and  places  where  it  used 
to  be  dry  are  covered  with  water.  If  I  did  n't  feel  it  in  every  bone 
of  my  body,  and  could  n't  see  it,  I  'd  hardly  believe  there  had  ever 
been  a  storm.  But  we  were  lucky,  after  all.  None  of  the  cattle 
were  hurt,  and  the  cowboy  is  here,  too.  He  crept  away,  down  the 
valley,  where  there  was  no  storm  at  all." 

It  was  a  clear,  bracing  morning.  Here  and  there,  there  were 
still  some  large  hailstones  lying  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks.  The 
cows  were  grazing  on  the  meadow,  and  the  cowboy  was  singing 
merrily.  He  was  proud  that  the  goats  were  the  best  judges  of  the 
weather  ;  while  grazing,  they  had  moved  down  towards  the  valley, 
and  that  was  the  surest  sign  that  a  storm  was  brewing. 

At  noon,  Franz  came  up  from  the  farm.  The  torrents  of  water 
that  had  rushed  down  into  the  valley,  had  led  them  to  suppose  that 
something  had  happened,  and  Walpurga  had  sent  Franz  to  find  out 
all  about  it.  The  hot,  midday  sun  soon  dried  up  even-thing,  and 
the  waters  did  not  long  remain  on  the  heights.  Irma  went  out  to  her 
favorite  resting-place  and,  spreading  her  blue  rug  on  the  ground, 
lay  down. 

Suddenly,  she  heard  the  sounds  of  a  bugle  horn.  What  was  it  ? 
Was  it  royalty,  or  a  dream  ? 

The  sounds  were  repeated.  Irma's  heart  beat  violently.  Some- 
thing drew  near.  She  could  hear  it  panting,  as  it  forced  its  way 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS  605 

through  the  crackling  brush.  She  looked  up  and  saw  a  stag  rush- 
ing through  the  clearing  near  by,  and  the  huntsmen  pursuing  and 
gaining  upon  it.  Irma  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes — she  looked 
once  more —  It  was  the  king  and  his  suite. 

Springing  from  his  horse,  the  chief  piqueur  exclaimed:  "The 
stag  broke  through  here,  Your  Majesty.  Here  is  the  trail."  He 
dipped  his  finger  in  the  blood  and  showed  it  to  the  king.  The 
king  looked  around —  Did  he  feel  the  glance  directed  upon  him 
from  the  thicket  ?  The  glance  that  had  once  made  him  so  happy, 
but  that  had,  for  him,  been  so  long  extinguished  ?  He  missed  his 
stirrup ;  the  horse  reared  wildly.  Irma  bent  down,  with  her  face 
against  the  mossy  turf.  She  felt  as  if  the  whole  hunt,  as  if  all  the 
horses'  hoofs,  were  passing  over  her.  She  bit  the  grass  on  which 
she  lay.  She  dug  her  hands  into  the  earth.  She  feared  to  shriek 
aloud. 

When  she  got  up,  all  was  quiet.  She  stared  about  her.  Had  it 
been  a  dream  ?  In  the  distance,  she  heard  the  report  of  a  gun 
and  the  sound  of  the  bugle.  '  The  stag  had  fallen. 

If  one  could  die  in  that  way,  thought  Irma  to  herself,  sinking 
back  on  the  moss,  and  weeping. 

She  arose.  A  storm-laden  cloud  had  once  more  arisen  within 
her  soul,  but  it  was  for  the  last  time.  About  her,  all  was  clear 
and  sunny.  Hail  and  storm  and  lightning  were  forgotten.  She 
went  back  to  the  hut,  and  often  turned  to  look  at  the  sun  sinking 
in  the  west.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  repaired  to  rest  be- 
fore nightfall.  She  was  shivering  with  a  fever-chill,  and  soon  her 
cheeks  were  hot  and  red.  She  called  the  little 'pitchman  to  her 
bedside  and  asked  him  to  give  her  a  sheet  of  paper.  Her  hand 
trembled,  while  she  wrote  in  pencil : 

"Eberhard's  daughter  sends  for  Gunther." 

She  told  the  little  pitchman  to  hurry  to  town,  to  give  this  paper 
to  the  great  doctor  in  person,  and  to  conduct  him  to  her  at  once. 
Then  she  turned  away  and  was  calm  again. 

"  I  '11  give  you  something  good,"  said  the  little  pitchman,  while, 
with  broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  head,  and  mountain-staff  in  his 
hand,  he  stood  before  her.  "  You  '11  see,  it  '11  do  you  good.  I  '11 
lay  the  kid  down  here  at  your  feet ;  that  '11  do  both  o'  you  good. 
Shall  I  ?" 

Irma  nodded  assent. 

The  little  pitchman  did  as  he  said  he  would.  The  kid  looked 
up  sleepily  at  Irma,  and  she  smiled  on  it  in  return.  Both  soon 
closed  their  eyes. 

Wandering  in  the  dark,  the  little  pitchman  descended  into  the 
Valley. 


606  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

DOWN  in  the  valley,  it  had  been  raining  all  clay  long.  What 
had  been  hail  and  thunder  up  among  the  mountains,  had 
tumid  to  rain,  and  occasional  gleams  of  blue  sky  served  to  show 
that  there  was  fair  weather  above. 

Towards  evening,  the  storm  cleared  away.  The  queen,  accom- 
panied by  the  ladies  of  her  court,  among  whom  Madame  Gunther 
and  Paula  were  now  included,  was  sitting  in  the  large  music-room, 
the  doors  of  which  were  open.  Paula  had  been  singing  to  the 
queen,  for  the  first  time,  and,  on  account  of  her  embarrassment, 
Madame  Gunther  begged  that  she  might  not  be  asked  to  sing  again 
that  day. 

The  relation  between  the  queen  and  Madame  Gunther  was  a 
peculiar  one.  The  queen  was  charmed  with  her  sincerity  and 
thoroughness,  but  she  found  it  difficult  to  accustom  herself  to  the 
presence  of  one  who  was  so  independent  of  her.  She  was,  at  one 
time,  tempted  to  regard  this  as  pettiness,  for,  on  the  very  day  that 
Madame  Gunther  had  accepted  the  breastpin,  she  had  said  to  the 
queen  :  "  Your  Majesty,  it  will  never  do,  unless  you  accept  a  present 
from  me  in  return,"  saying  which,  she  gave  the  queen  a  hand- 
somely-bound book,  which  a  brother  of  hers,  a  physician  residing 
in  America,  had  written,  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  The  queen 
accepted  it  with  thanks,  and  Madame  Gunther  felt  quite  relieved, 
although  it  frequently  cost  her  an  effort  to  translate,  as  it  were,  all 
that  she  wished  to  say,  in  order  to  clothe  it  in  the  proper  court 
costume,  for  she  took  a  pride  in  rejecting  prescribed  forms. 

The  queen  enquired  why  they  saw  so  little  of  the  elder  daugh- 
ter, the  professor's  widow.  Madame  Gunther  replied  that,  as 
Bronnen  and  their  nephew  were  visiting  them,  and  as  there  was 
much  to  look  after  in  the  house,  Cornelia  had  gladly  assumed 
these  duties.  It  always  seemed  like  a  new  truth  to  the  queen,  or 
like  tidings  from  some  strange  world,  to  find  that  the  daily  wants 
of  life  required  special  attention  and  did  not  provide  for  them- 
selves. 

The  weather  exerted  a  depressing  influence  on  the  spirits  of  all. 
Here  in  the  country,  and  especially  in  this  little  dairy-farm,  where 
they  missed  many  comforts,  and  where,  on  account  of  the  small 
amount  of  room,  they  were  prevented  from  scattering  and  seeking 
various  diversions,  the  effects  of  the  weather  were  all  the  more  no- 
ticeable and  unpleasant. 

Their  delight  in  anticipation  of  the  morrow  was  all  the  greater, 
as  it  promised  to  be  a  bright  day. 

It  was  agreed  that  they  should  all  meet,  at  dinner,  near  the  sec- 
ond waterfall,  and  that  the  king  would  join  them  there. 

The  king  was  in  his  cabinet,  engaged  with  Bronnen.  The  new 
wdegraph  was  carrying  many  messages  to  and  fro.  Gunther,  the 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  607 

intendant,  Sixtus  and  several  other  gentlemen  were  smoking  theii 
cigars  and  walking  under  the  drooping  trees  of  the  avenue,  whicr 
the  evening  sun  was  now  lighting  up  with  a  thousand  brilliant  hues: 

The  ladies  in  the  music-room  maintained  that  the  Alpine  glow 
(Alpengliihen)  could  be  seen  that  day.  They  naturally  expected 
to  see  it  daily,  although  it  is  an  exceedingly  rare  phenomenon. 

The  night  had  come  on,  and  the  king  was  sitting  at  the  card- 
table,  with  Gunther  and  two  of  the  gentlemen-in-waiting. 

A  servant  came  in  and  informed  Gunther  that  there  was  a  man 
outside  who  wished  to  speak  with  him  at  once.  Gunther  gave  his 
cards  to  the  ever-obliging  intendant,  and  went  out  where,  leaning 
on  his  great  Alpine  staff,  his  broad-brimmed,  crumpled  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  his  rug  thrown  over  him,  stood  the  little  pitchman.  He 
kept  his  left  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  when  Gunther  came  up  to 
him,  he  said  : 

"  Here  's  a  paper  for  you." 

Gunther  read  the  note,  and  then  rubbed  his  eyes  and  passed 
his  hand  across  his  face,  as  if  to  awaken  himself. 

"  Who  sent  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  guess  that  '11  tell  you —     Our  Irmgard." 

Gunther  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name,  here  before  the 
very  door,  when  within  sat  the  king  and  the  queen — 

He  went  up  to  the  lamp  in  the  corridor,  and  read  the  note  again, 
There  it  stood  : 

"  Eberhard's  daughter  sends  for  Gunther." 

This  man,  who  had  a  right  to  boast  that  he  was  always  calm 
and  composed,  was  obliged  to  support  himself  by  the  balusters, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  utter  a  word.  When  he 
looked  up,  his  glance  met  that  of  the  little  pitchman. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  at  last. 

"  I  'm  from  the  freehold  farm.     Walpurga  's  my  niece — " 

"  Very  well ;  go  outside  and  wait  for  me.  I  '11  be  there  di- 
rectly." 

The  little  pitchman  went  out,  and  Gunther  summoned  all  his 
self-command,  in  order  to  return  to  the  card-room  to  excuse  him- 
self, and  say  that  he  had  been  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  one 
who  was  dangerously  ill.  He  scarcely  knew  how  he  could,  with- 
out betraying  his  emotion,  mention  this  to  those  who  were  so  di- 
rectly concerned,  but  he  hoped  to  do  so,  nevertheless. 

At  that  moment,  he  fortunately  met  Paula  and  Bronnen,  who 
had  been  walking  in  the  garden  and  were  just  about  to  enter  the 
house. 

"  The    very  thing ! "     exclaimed    Gunther,   addressing   them. 

"  Paula,  send  me  my  hat ;  and  you,  dear  Bronnen,  present  my  ex- 

.  cuses  to  their  majesties,  and  tell  them  I  am  required  instantly,  by 

one  who  is  dangerously  ill.      Pray  do  this  without  exciting  atten- 


608  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

tion  ;  and,  Paula,  don't  mention  it  to  your  mother  until  you  're  on 
the  way  home.  I  shall  be  gone  all  night." 

"Can't  Dr.  Sixtus  go?  "  asked  Bronnen. 

"  Xo.  Pray  ask  me  no  more.  I  shall  be  home  early  to-morro\v 
morning ;  but  if  I  don't  come,  I  will  meet  you  by  the  waterfall,  at 
dinner-time." 

Bronnen  and  Paula  wrent  into  the  house,  and,  a  few  moments  la- 
ter, a  lackey  brought  Gunther  his  hat. 

Gunther  hurried  off  with  the  little  pitchman.  Only  once  did  he 
turn  back  to  look  at  the  brilliantly-lighted  windows,  and  to  think 
of  those  who  were  sitting  within,  void  of  care  and  foreboding 
naught.  How  startled  they  would  be  if  they  had  heard  the  tidings 
that  affected  him  so  powerfully.  On  the  way  to  his  house,  he  had 
but  little  to  say  to  the  little  pitchman.  He  did  not  care  to  ques- 
tion him  more  closely,  for  he  feared  lest  some  answer  might  be 
overheard,  and  thus  prematurely  betray  the  secret.  He  was 
still,  in  his  own  mind,  endeavoring  to  devise  some  plan  by  which 
all  could  be  arranged  and  adjusted. 

It  was  not  until  they  drew  near  the  house,  that  Gunther  asked : 

"  What  ails  the  patient  ?     What  does  she  complain  of?  " 

"  She  do  n't  complain  of  anything.  She  's  got  a  hot  fever,  and 
she  has  been  coughing  for  a  long  time." 

"  Has  she  her  perfect  senses?  " 

"  Just  the  same  as  ever ;  but  Gundel,  my  daughter,  says  she 
sometimes  calls  out  in  her  sleep  :  '  Victory  ! ' ' 

"Just  wait  here,"  said  Gunther,  when  they  reached  the  house. 
"  I  '11  send  you  something  to  eat  and  drink ;  but  tell  no  one  who 
sent  you  here.'-' 

Cornelia  was  sitting  near  the  lamp  and  reading  to  her  blind 
cousin.  He  had  only  told  her  of  the  terrors  of  the  hailstorm  ;  his 
heart-sufferings  he  had  kept  to  himself.  He  had  been  sleeping 
nearly  all  day,  and  now  felt  refreshed.  Cornelia  was  alarmed 
when  she  saw  her  father,  but  he  soon  quieted  her.  His  medicine- 
chest  and  some  well-sealed  packages  of  refreshing  and  strength- 
ening food,  were  soon  in  readiness,  and  were  packed  upon  the 
mule.  Gunther  rode  off,  the  little  pitchman  walking  by  his  side. 
The  face  of  the  latter  was  scarcely  visible,  for  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  effects  of  yesterday's  storm. 
It  was  not  until  they  had  left  the  to\vn  behind  them,  that  Gunther 
asked : 

"  How  far  have  we  to  go  ?  " 

"  It  takes  three  hours  on  foot,  but  on  horseback  it 's  a  full  hour 
more." 

When  they  entered  the  forest,  Gunther  halted  and  said : 

"  Come  near.     So  you  are  Walpurga's  uncle  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure.  I  'm  her  mother's  own  and  only  brother,  for  the 
two  others  died  young." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  609 

"What  do  you  call  the  sick  girl?  " 

"  Irmgard  ;  that's  her  name." 

"  And  how  long  has  she  been  with  you  ?  " 

"  Ever  since  Hansei  bought  the  farm.  She  came  with  us  then 
from  the  lake.  She  was  sick,  and  they  say  she  's  a  little  bit  out  of 
her  mind  ;  but  I  do  n't  believe  a  word  of  it.  She  's  got  her  right 
senses ;  rather  too  much  than  too  little." 

"  And  do  n't  you  know  her  family  name  ?  "  asked  Gunther. 

"  I  never  asked,"  and  the  little  pitchman,  with  great  volubility, 
went  on  to  tell  all  he  knew  of  Irmgard's  life  and  how,  for  years, 
she  had  worn  a  bandage  on  her  forehead,  and  had  never  taken  it 
off  until  she  had  gone  up  to  the  mountain  meadow.  He  described 
her  life  so  touchingly  that  Gunther  stopped  and,  taking  the  old 
man  by  the  hand,  said : 

"  You  're  a  good  man." 

Uncle  Peter  did  not  dispute  this,  but  maintained  that,  in  all  the 
world,  there  was  no  one  so  good  as  Irmgard. 

Rapid  rivulets  crossed  their  path  in  many  places,  and  the  little 
pitchman  told  Gunther  of  the  storm  of  the  previous  night ;  how 
terrible  it  is  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  air  seems  filled  with  stones 
that  pound  away  at  one,  and  how  he  had  helped  the  blind  man, 
and  also  what  had  been  promised  him.  He  would  often  take  hold 
of  the  mule's  bridle  and  guide  it  down  some  steep  descent,  through 
a  brook  and  then  up  the  hill  again. 

"  You  must  have  gone  through  a  good  deal  yourself,  Doctor," 
said  the  little  pitchman.  He  would  have  liked  his  companion  to 
entertain  him  by  the  way.  He  thought  that  one  sitting  on  the 
mule  could  talk  far  more  comfortably  than  he  who  Was  walking  by 
his  side.  He  could  feel  it  in  his  chest  that  to  talk  while  going  up 
hill,  was  no  easy  matter.  As  if  divining  this,  Gunther  alighted 
when  they  reached  a  level  place,  and  made  the  little  pitchman 
mount.  After  much  persuasion,  Uncle  Peter  at  last  consented 
and  got  up  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  began  to  ascend  again,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  insisted  on  Gunther's  riding. 

"  If  our  Irmgard  wants  to  leave  us  now,"  said  the  little  pitch- 
man, "  I  'd  willingly  give  her  up  to  you,  Doctor.  She  can  play 
the  zither  splendidly,  and  when  she  's  well  again,  you  can  teach 
her  anything.  Everything  comes  easy  to  her.  But  I  hope  she  '11 
stay  with  us.  She  's  shy  and  does  n'<  like  to  go  among  people." 

It  seemed  as  if  he  had  divined  Gunther's  very  thoughts,  for  the 
Doctor  had  been  asking  himself  how  he  could  take  Irma  to  his 
house,  and  yet  keep  the  court  ignorant  of  her  existence.  In  his 
mind's  eye,  he  already  saw  her  sitting  beside  his  wife  and  Cornelia, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  gained  a  daughter  who  would  fill  Paula's 
place. 

It  was  dark  in  the  forest  and  the  stars  were  gleaming  overhead. 

"  It 's  past  midnight,"  said  the  little  pitchman,  when  they  reached 
26* 


6io  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

the  crest  of  a  projecting  hill.  "The  moon's  coming  up  over 
there." 

Gunther  looked  back  and  saw  the  half-moon  rising  and  looking 
like  a  ruin  suspended  in  the  vast  firmament. 

"There  's  some  of  our  cows  already,"  said  the  little  pitchman, 
and  his  voice  grew  brighter.  "That 's  Blackbird,  with  the  ding- 
dong  bell.  She  always  strays  furthest  of  all;  but  we  '11  be  home 
in  less  than  half  an  hour,  at  any  rate." 

They  went  on  in  silence,  and  at  last  reached  the  hut.  A  ray  oi 
light  shone  through  the  opening  in  the  closed  window-shutter. 

Gunther  entered. 

"  I  '11  go  in  first  and  tell  her  the  gentleman  's  here,"  said  the 
little  pitchman,  softly. 

Gunther  assented. 

He  soon  came  out  again  and  said  : 

"She  's  asleep,  but  her  cheeks  are  as  red  as  fire,  and  Gundel 
says  that  she  often  called  out,  in  her  sleep  :  '  Father  ! '  and  some- 
times, 'Victory.'  She  must  be  having  pleasant  dreams." 

Gunther  entered  the  cottage. 

At  the  sight  of  Irma  he  seemed  as  if  paralyzed. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  he  asked  the  little  pitchman,  when  the  kid  at 
Irma's  feet  raised  its  head  and  stared  at  him. 

"  It 's  a  little  chamois  kid  that  I  found  yesterday.  She  's  very 
fond  of  it,"  answered  the  little  pitchman  in  a  whisper. 

Gunther  requested  the  little  pitchman  and  Gundel  to  leave  the 
room  and  then  sat  down  silently  at  Irma's  bedside.  He  felt  her 
pulse  and  touched  her  forehead,  and  the  little  pitchman,  who  had 
lingered  in  the  room,  asked  :  "  How  is  she  ?  " 

Gunther  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  beckoned  him  to  go  out. 

The  little  pitchman  hurried  up  to  the  hay-loft,  awakened  Franz, 
and  ordered  him  to  hurry  down  to  his  master  and  mistress  and  tell 
them  to  come  up  directly,  for  Irmgard  was  very  sick. 

He  lay  down  on  the  hay,  feeling  as  if  every  bone  in  his  body 
were  broken.  He  had  never  before  been  so  tired,  but  he  could 
neither  rest  nor  sleep,  and  was  soon  standing  in  front  of  the  cot- 
tage, listening  at  the  window. 

Meanwhile,  Gunther  remained  with  the  patient.  She  moved 
now  and  then,  but  did  not  open  her  eyes.  The  kid,  at  her  feet 
was  also  sleeping  again. 

Gunther  had  removed  the  fight  from  the  room,  and  now  sat  in 
the  dark. 

"  The  day  is  coming,  let  me  see  the  daylight !  "  cried  Irma,  sud- 
denly starting  up. 

A  gray  streak  of  light  fell  through  the  opening  in  the  shutter. 

"Let  me  see  the  daylight,"  said  Irma  again,  and  the  little  pitch- 
man outside  opened  the  shutters.  A  flood  of  light  poured  into  the 
chamber.  A  radiant  glow  passed  over  Irma's  countenance.  She 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  611 

stretched  out  both  hands  to  Gunther.  He  clasped  them,  and 
she  kissed  his  hands  with  her  feverish  lips. 

"You  have  achieved  great  results,"  said  Gunther.  "You  have 
shown  a  power  that  I  cannot  but  admire.  Hold  fast  to  it." 

"  I  thank  you  !  Through  you,  my  father  returns  to  me.  Lay 
your  hand  upon  my  forehead." 

"  I  place  my  hand  upon  your  forehead  and,  in  your  father's  spirit 
I  bless  you,  and  with  this  kiss  I  kiss  away  all  your  burdens.  You 
are  free  ! " 

Irma  lay  there  quietly,  and  Gunther's  hand  lay  on  her  brow, 
while,  out  of  doors,  the  rosy  tint  of  morn  ascended  higher  and 
higher,  and  at  last  the  light  flooded  the  room  with  its  golden  glow. 

Gunther  went  out  and  brought  a  tonic  draught  for  Irma.  It  re- 
vived and  refreshed  her. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  about  to  die,"  she  said  in  a  clear  voice,  "and 
I  am  happy  that  I  have  lived  in  consciousness  and  can  die  in  con- 
sciousness." 

She  gave  her  journal  to  Gunther  and  told  him  that  the  wish  she 
had  there  expressed,  in  relation  to  her  place  of  burial,  need  not 
be  regarded  ;  that  the  uncle  knew  which  had  been  her  favorite  spot, 
and  that  she  wished  to  be  buried  there,  with  nothing  to  mark  her 
grave. 

Gunther  had,  before  this,  said  that  he  had  held  many  a  dying 
hand  in  his — he  had  never  sat  by  a  deathbed  like  Irma's. 

CHAPTER     XVII. 

' '  T  KNEW  it !  I  felt  it  must  come  !  "  cried  Walpurga  when  Franz 
1   brought  the  news  of  Irma's  illness.     "  I  knew  she  'd  never 

come  back  !  "    she  repeated  again  and  again,  weeping,  wringing 

her  hands,  and  praying  by  turns. 

"That  won't  help  any,"  said  Hansei,  laying  his  hand  on  her 

shoulder.     "  Get  up  ;  you  're  not  like  this  at  other  times.     Come, 

may  be  it  is  n't  so  bad  after  all ;  and  even  if  it  should  be,  this  is  nc 

time  to  cry  and  weep ;  we  must  do  all  that  can  be  done." 

"  What'can  I  do  ?     What  shall  I  do?"  said  Walpurga,  turning 

her  tearful  face  to  Hansei. 
He  helped  her  up  and  said  : 
"  Franz  says  there  's  a  doctor  up  there,  who  has  a  medicine  chest 

with  him.     And  now  let 's  eat  something  and  then  go  up  to  her." 
"  Oh  dear  Lord,  I  can't  walk  three  steps ;  I  feel  as  if  my  limbs 

.vere  broken." 

"  Then  you  'd  better  stay  here  and  I  '11  go  up." 
"  Would  you  leave  me  here  alone  ?     What  am  I  to  do  then  ?  " 
"  I  do  n't  know  what.     Go  to  bed  ;  perhaps  you  can  sleep." 
"  I  do  n't  want  to  go  to  bed ;  I  do  n't  want  to  sleep  ;  I  do  n't 

want  anything.     I  '11  go  along,  too,  and,  if  I  die  on  the  way,  I  can't 

help  it." 


612  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Do  n't  talk  so  !  you  wrong  me  and  the  children  when  you  do," 
Hansei  \vas  about  to  say,  but  he  made  a  rapid  movement,  as  if  to 
repress  the  words.  "There's  no  need  of  saying  that,"  thought 
he;  "when  womerr,  filled  with  pity  for  themselves,  begin  to  com- 
plain of  their  lot,  they  do  n't  know  what  they  say." 

Hansei  brought  his  wife  her  best  clothes,  for  she  was  so  agitated 
that  she  scarcely  knew  where  they  were,  or  how  to  put  them  on. 
Hansei  proved  quite  a  clever  valet. 

"  Now  you  must  put  your  shoes  on  yourself,"  said  he,  at  last. 

Walpurga  could  not  help  smiling  through  her  tears.  It  was  not 
until  then  that  she  perceived  how  kindly  and  faithfully  he  had 
helped  her,  and,  with  a  bright  voice,  she  said  :  "  Yes,  so  I  can , 
you  've  helped  me,  and  now  I  feel  that  I  can  walk." 

Hansei  had  the  meal  brought  in  and,  after  placing  his  mountain 
staff,  his  hunting  bag  and  his  hat  in  readiness,  he  sat  down  to  eat. 
Walpurga  was  also  obliged  to  sit  down,  although  she  ate  but  little. 
One  of  Hansei's  great  virtues  was  that  he  could  eat  heartily  at  any 
time.  He  did  full  justice  to  the  meal,  and  his  manner  seemed  to 
say  that  when  one  has  satisfied  his  hunger,  he  is  better  prepared 
for  any  undertaking. 

Before  leaving,  he  cut  off  a  large  piece  of  bread  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

The  children  were  consigned  to  the  care  of  the  upper  servant, 
and  one  of  the  laboring  women  was  also  charged  to  remain  in  the 
house.  Hansei  and  his  wife  started  for  the  meadow. 

They  had  already  gone  some  distance,  when  Burgei  came  run- 
ning after,  them,  crying :  "  I  want  to  go  along ;  I  want  to  go  to 
Cousin  Irmgard." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  They  were  obliged  to  take  the  child 
with  them,  for  they  were  afraid  to  let  her  go  back  alone  and  neither 
of  them  cared  to  take  her  back. 

"  You  're  a  naughty  child,  a  very  naughty  child  !  And  now  I  've 
got  to  carry  you,  a  big  girl  like  you,"  said  Walpurga,  taking  the 
child  in  her  arms.  Hansei  nodded,  with  a  pleased  air.  It  was 
well  the  child  was  with  them,  for  then  his  wife,  who  was  apt  to  go 
off  into  extremes,  would  not  become  so  violent  if  the  worst  should 
happen. 

Walpurga,  who  had  at  first  thought  that  she  could  not  walk 
alone,  now  carried  the  child  and  stepped  out  bravely. 

"  Let  Burgei  walk  for  awhile,  and  when  she  gets  tired  again,  I  '11 
carry  her,"  said  Hansei. 

As  long  as  the  path  was  wide  enough,  the  child  walked  between 
its  parents,  and  when  it  grew  narrower,  they  let  her  run  on  ahead. 
When  they  found  that  they  could  get  on  but  slowly,  on  account  of 
the  child,  Hansei  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  where  she  soon  fell 
asleep. 

Walpuiga  then  softly  whispered  to  Hansei : 

"I  must  tell  you  now  who  our  Irmgard  is." 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  613 

"  And  I  tell  you  I  do  n't  want  to  know.  She  must  tell  me  her- 
self, it  she  lives ;  and  if  she  's  dead,  you  can  tell  me  then,  just  as 
well." 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  Walpurga,  "  Do  you  know  more  than  I  do  3 
Did  Franz  tell  you  anything  in  secret  ?  " 

"  Franz  told  me  nothing  but  what  you  've  heard." 

"  But  why  do  you  talk  about  death  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  Because  one  who  's  very  sick  can  easily  die.     But  do  be  calm." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  hardly  know  that  we  are  in  the  woods  and  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  n't  see  a  thing.  Stop  a  moment  !  There  's  a  doctor  up 
there.  He  knows  her,  and  others  who  know  her  will  come,  too. 
The  man  who  came  to  see  us  the  other  day  is  her  brother,  and  now 
they  '11  go  and  take  our  Irmgard  away  with  them." 

"If  she  's  in  her  right  mind,  and  wants  to  go  of  her  own  free 
will,  we  can't  say  anything  against  it,"  said  Hansei,  "  but  this  I  do 
say,  and  no  one  will  move  me  from  it.  As  long  as  she  's  so  sick 
that  she  can't  say  what  she  wants,  I  won't  let  them  do  a  thing  to 
her.  I  'm  Hansei,  and  I  'm  her  protector ;  nothing  shall  happen  to 
her —  All  I  ask  of  you,  is  to  stand  by  me  and  not  interfere.  You 
know  when  I  say  a  thing,  I  mean  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  're  right !  "  said  Walpurga.  Hansei's  resolute 
words  seemed  to  infuse  her  with  new  strength,  for  she  went  up 
the  steep  mountain  path  without  the  slightest  difficulty.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  Hansei  had  been  carrying  her  as  well  as  the  child. 
Moved  by  this  thought,  she  suddenly  said  : 

"  Do  you  remember  when  you  once  wanted  to  carry  me,  at  home 
by  the  lake  ?  Oh,  dear  me,  it  seems  as  if  we  must  have  been  very 
different  beings  then,  for  we  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the  world." 

"  We  're  none  the  worse  off,  for  knowing  and  having  some  of 
it !  "  replied  Hansei,  in  a  loud  voice,  and  awakening  the  child. 
"There,  now  ;  run  along  again,"  said  he  to  Burgei. 

They  rested  for  a  little  while.  Hansei  remembered  the  piece  of 
bread  that  he  had  put  in  his  pocket  and,  cutting  off  a  bit  of  it,  he 
said,  while  pointing  towards  the  valley  with  his  knife  :  "  Our  brook 
runs  down  through  there,  and  it  's  only  an  hour's  distance  from 
here  to  the  little  town  where  Stasi  lives." 

"  Only  an  hour  from  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Walpurga.  "  Then  I  '11 
wak  over  there.  She  's  the  best,  the  only  help.  You  go  on  with 
the  child,  straight  up  to  the  hut.  I  '11  soon  follow  you  by  way  of 
the  town,  and  I  '11  bring  something  good  with  me." 

"  Wife  !  Have  you  gone  mad  ?  Do  n't  make  me  crazy,  too. 
Do  you  want  to  run  off,  when  you  're  so  near  the  dying  one  ?  " 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you.  The  queen  is  down  there  and  she  alone 
?.an  help  her.  God  be  with  you,  Hansei,  and  with  you  too,  Burgei. 
1  'ii  soon  follow  after  you." 

Away  she  ran,  through  the  forest,  along  the  stream,  and  towards 
the  town. 


6u  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  Where  's  mother?     Mother!  mother  !  "  cried  the  child. 

"Be  quiet!"  said  Hansei,  "Mother  has  another  child  down 
there,  and  he  's  a  prince  and  will  send  you  golden  clothes." 

"  Is  it  an  enchanted  prince  that  mother  is  going  to  free  fron 
a  spell?  "  asked  the  child. 

"Yes,  he  's  enchanted,"  said  Hansei,  endeavoring  to  quiet  her. 

"  But  what  was  he  changed  into  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  Into  a  cuckoo  ;  but  not  another  word  now  ;  be  quiet." 

Filled  with  strange  thoughts,  the  father  and  child  went  up  the 
mountain.  Hansei  could  not  understand  how,  at  such  a  moment, 
his  wife  could  leave  her  friend  and  go  to  the  queen — .  Perhaps 
they  were  bound  together  in  some  way?  He  shook  his  head. 
Matters  that  he  could  not  disentangle,  he  always  put  away  from 
him.  The  only  thing  was  to  see  what  could  be  done  for  the  sick 
one;  that  was  the  most  important  matter.  He  squared  his 
shoulders  and  was  ready,  if  the  physician  thought  well  of  it, 
to  carry  Irmgard  in  his  arms,  all  the  way  down  to  the  farm. 

The  child  ran  along,  looking  about  it  with  wondering  eyes. 
"  He  's  calling  !  he  's  calling  !  "  whispered  she.  "  My  mother  will 
free  you." 

A  cuckoo  was  really  crying  in  the  wood  through  which  the  noon- 
day sun  was  gleaming.  His  cry  was  sometimes  near  and  then 
more  distant,  and  at  last,  uttering  his  peculiar  note,  he  flew  over  the 
travelers'  heads. 

Hansei,  with  the  child,  at  last  reached  the  shepherd's  hut,  where 
the  uncle  and  Gundel,  with  sorrowful  countenances,  came  forward 
to  meet  him. 

"  She  's  still  alive,  but  she  can't  last  long,"  said  the  uncle,  wiping 
away  his  tears  with  his  sleeve.  "  The  doctor  won't  let  any  of  us 
go  in  to  her.  But  where  's  Walpurga?" 

"She  '11  soon  be  here,"  replied  Hansei.  It  was  all  he  could  do 
to  keep  off  the  cows,  who  knew  their  master  and  came  up  to  him, 
as  was  their  wont,  in  order  to  get  a  handful  of  salt.  But  he  had 
forgotten  to  bring  it  with  him,  and  all  the  salt  they  had  up  here 
was  in  the  room  that  no  one  was  permitted  to  enter. 

Hansei  ordered  the  cowboy  to  drive  the  cows  off  for  some  dis- 
tance, so  that  the  sick  one  might  not  hear  the  sound  of  the  bells. 
That  was  all  he  could  do  for  Irma.  He  sat  down  sadly  on  the 
bench  before  the  hut,  and,  taking  up  a  piece  of  carved  wood 
which  lay  on  the  ground,  he  looked  at  it  as  carefully  as  if  it  were 
marble,  and  turned  it  again  and  again.  He  sat  there  for  a  long 
time.  Then  he  put  Burgei  in  Gundel's  charge,  and,  hoping  to 
meet  his  wife,  went  out  along  the  road  that  led  towards  the  little 
town.  But  it  was  long  before  she  came.  He  went  further  into 
the  forest,  and  was  vexed,  as  he  always  was  whenever  he  came  up 
here,  to  ihink  of  yonder  fine  trees  that  were  his  own  property,  but 
which  could  not  be  felled,  because  no  one  could  get  up  to  the  rocks 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  615 

on  which  they  were.  A  chattering  magpie,  sitting  on  the  high 
oranches  of  a  beautiful  pine,  seemed  to  be  making  sport  of  him. 
After  he  had  again  and  again  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  Hansel 
became  conscious  of  the  thoughts  that  had  engaged  him  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  trouble.  There  was  nothing  wrong  in  it — he  was 
sure  of  that ;  but  this  was  not  the  time  to  think  of  such  things, 
and,  as  if  the  trouble  were  now  dawning  on  him  for  the  first  time, 
he  was  overwhelmed  with  grief. 

He  turned  back  and  went  towards  the  hut.  The  Doctor  was 
j  \iSt  coming  out. 

"You  are  the  freehold  farmer,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes ;  and  you  're  the  doctor  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  die  before  evening." 

Hansei's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

The  uncle  asked  Gunther  to  allow  him  to  fetch  out  the  little  kid. 
He  granted  his  request.  Stepping  softly,  he  brought  it  out,  gave 
it  something  to  drink  and,  carrying  it  back  again,  placed  it  at  the 
sick  girl's  feet. 

"  She  opened  her  eyes  and  nodded  to  me,  but  she  did  n't  say  a 
word  ;  and  then  she  closed  her  eyes  again,"  said  the  uncle. 

Hansei  begged  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  see  Irmgard  once 
more.  He  was  allowed  to  look  through  the  crevice  in  the  shutter. 
When  Gunther  again  returned  to  the  sick  room,  Hansei,  weep- 
ing as  if  his  heart  would  break,  walked  out  along  the  road  that  led 
towards  the  town. 

"  Uncle  's  right:  she  's  become  like  an  angel,"  said  he  to  him- 
self. 

The  calf  that  was  born  on  the  first  day  that  they  had  come  up 
to  the  shepherd's  hut,  seemed  conscious  of  its  special  claims  on 
Hansei.  In  spite  of  all  he  could  do,  it  kept  running  after  him  for 
salt.  Hansei  succeeded  in  satisfying  it,  by  giving  it  the  last  morsel 
of  bread  that  he  had  about  him. 

When  he  reached  the  woods,  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  ;  and 
there  he  wept  and  would,  now  and  then,  look  about  him  as  if  be- 
wildered. How  could  it  be  possible  that  the  sun  was  still  shining, 
the  cuckoo  ciying,  and  the  hawk  screaming,  while  she  who  was 
up  there  was  breathing  her  last — 

What  could  Walpurga  want  of  the  queen  ?  "  Her  place  is  up 
there,"  thought  he  to  himself,  agair  and  again. 

CHAPTER     XVIIK 

"HOLLOWING  the  course  of  the  brook,  Walpurga  had  hurried 
1  down  the  mountain-side.  She  soon  saw  the  little  town  and 
the  farm  house,  on  the  roof  of  which  a  bright  flag  was  fluttering. 


616  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Walpurga  sat  down  on  a  rock  by  the  stream,  to  recover  her 
breath  and  rest  for  a  few  moments.  A  cuckoo  flew  over  her  head 
and  up  the  mountain. 

"That  's  a  bad  beginning,"  said  she  to  herself. 

She  walked  on  towards  the  dairy-farm.  Looking  through  the 
iron  railing,  she  saw  a  boy  playing  about  the  garden.  His  hair  fell 
over  his  shoulders,  in  long,  fair  curls.  He  wore  a  light  dress  and  a 
hat  with  a  feather.  She  felt  as  if  her  heart  must  burst  and,  with, 
convulsive  grip,  she  held  fast  to  one  of  the  iron  rails  of  the  fence, 
in  order  to  support  herself.  Then  she  walked  on  towards  the  gar- 
den-gate. 

"Frau  von  Gerloff — the  prince — my  child!  my  child!"  she 
cried,  while  she  rushed  towards  the  prince  and,  kneeling  down  in 
the  grass,  kissed  and  embraced  him. 

The  boy  screamed. 

"Oh,  that  's  his  voice  !  "  cried  Walpurga. 

Startled  for  a  moment,  Frau  von  Gerloff  stood  there  as  if.rooted 
to  the  spot.  Then  she  approached  and  ordered  Walpurga  away. 
The  servants  also  advanced  and  ordered  her  to  go.  The  prince 
nestled  against  Frau  von  Gerloff,  as  if  to  hide  himself. 

Walpurga  was  still  kneeling  in  the  grass,  and  could  not  rise. 

"  He  do  n't  know  me  any  more,  and  I  'm  his  nurse  !  "  she  cried, 
looking  around  confusedly  at  those  about  her.  Her  voice  seemed 
to  exert  an  influence  on  the  child.  It  turned  its  face  toward  her. 
It  was  flushed  with  red  and  a  tear  still  hung  on  his  eyelashes,  al- 
though his  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"  God  greet  you  !  "  said  he.  He  had  been  taught  this  expression, 
on  account  of  their  sojourn  in  the  country. 

"He  can  say 'God  greet  you' — Oh,  he  can  speak  !  Dear  me, 
he  can  speak!  Now  just  say,  'Walpurga,'  child.  Can  you  say, 
'  Walpurga  ?  ' ' 

"  Walpurga,"  repeated  the  child. 

The  queen  approached,  attended  by  Countess  Brinkenstein  and 
Paula.  Walpurga  was  about  to  hasten  towards  her,  but  the  queen 
motioned  her  away,  and  ordered  Frau  von  Gerloff  to  remove  the 
prince.  The  prince  was  led  out  of  the  garden  but  he  looked  back 
at  Walpurga,  who  nodded  to  him  and  quite  forgot  that  she  was  in 
the  presence  of  the  queen,  until  the  latter  said  : 

"  You  have  thrust  yourself  in  here.  You  must  certainly  be 
aware  that  we  did  not  desire  to  see  you,  and  you  know  why." 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  defend  myself  now.  I  Ve  come  for  something 
else,"  urged  poor  Walpurga. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 

Breathing  heavily,  and  with  frequent  pauses,  Walpurga  hurriedly 
said: 

"Your  Majesty,  one  may  be  looked  upon  as  wicked,  or  may  not 
De  looked  upon  at  all,  and  yet  be  honest.  You  and  I  are  both  of 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  617 

us  in  good  health  and  can  settle  that  some  other  time.  But  I  have 
a  few  words  to  tell  you — quite  alone.  Dear  queen  !  for  mercy's 
sake  ! — You  '11  be  glad  of  it  to  your  dying  hour.  Dear  queen,  you 
must  die  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us — I  beg  you,  for  pity's  sake,  listen 
to  me  alone,  only  for  one  minute  !  Send  the  others  away,  there  's 
no  time  to  lose  !  " 

The  queen  motioned  Countess  Brinkenstein  and  Paula  to  with- 
draw. She  was  alone  with  Walpurga,  and  the  latter,  with  throb- 
bing heart,  said : 

"  Irma  lives  !  " 

"  What  do  you  say?  " 

"  She  's  dying ;  perhaps  she  's  dead  by  this  time  !  " 

"  I  do  n't  understand  you.     Are  you  mad  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  queen.  Sit  down  here  on  this  seat.  You  're  trem- 
bling all  over.  I  Ve  been  awkward  about  it,  but  I  could  n't  help  it. 
But  it  does  n't  matter  about  me,  now.  Do  with  me  what  you 
:hoose-^Irma  lives— perhaps  only  this  day,  perhaps  not  even  that 
long.  Dear  queen,  you  must  go  with  me.  You  must  go  to  her. 
It  's  all  that 's  left  her  on  earth —  A  single  word — a  hand — 

Countess  Brinkenstein  and  Paula,  who  saw  that  the  queen  was 
leaning  back,  as  pale  as  death,  hurried  to  her  assistance.  As  soon 
as  she  heard  the  rustling  of  their  dresses,  she  raised  herself  and 
said: 

"  Walpurga,  repeat  what  you  have  just  told  me." 

Walpurga  repeated  that  Irma  was  still  alive,  and  added  that  she 
had  been  concealed  with  her  for  nearly  four  years,  and  that  Gun- 
ther  was  now  with  her. 

The  two  ladies  seemed  dumb  with  surprise,  but  Walpurga  again 
turned  to  the  queen  and  exclaimed  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  n't  lose  a  minute  !  Come  with  me.  Stasi, 
who  once  turned  a  prayer  for  the  queen  to  me,  lives  in  there.  Dear 
queen,  if  you  can't  forgive  others,  how  can  they  still  pray  for  you  ? 
Just  think  how  you  felt  in  that  solemn  night,  dear  queen.  Stand 
up,  put  all  else  away  from  you  and  hold  fast  to  your  good  heart 
alone  !  Dear  queen — " 

"Do  not  annoy  her  majesty,"  said  Countess  Brinkenstein,  inter- 
rupting her. 

But  Walpurga  continued  : 

"  Your  Majesty,  when  you  die,  neither  court  ladies,  nor  anything 
else  can  help  you.  Leave  all  behind  you,  for  one  short  hour  of 
your  life !  Come  with  me  alone,  and  ask  me  nothing  more. 
She  '11  be  dead  before  night.  This  very  day,  you  can  perform  a 
good  deed  which  will  last  for  ever." 

"  I  will — I  must  go  to  her !  "  said  the  queen,  rising  from  her  seat 
and  walking  towards  the  house.  Her  step  was  quick,  her  cheeks 
Hushed  with  excitement. 

'•  /our  Majesty/'  said  Countess  Brinkenstein,  remonstrating, 


618  CLY  THE  HEIGHTS. 

"  the  gracious  king-  is  out  riding,  and  will  be  at  the  waterfall  at  din 
ner  lime.     Will  Your  Majesty  not  wait  until  then?  " 

••  No,"  replied  the  queen,  in  a  determined  voice,  as  if  the  ques- 
ion  had  interrupted  a  train  of  thought.  "  I  desire,"  said  she, 
"to  be  permitted  to  act  upon  my  own  responsibility." 

"  Your  Majesty,  there  is  no  carriage-road  to  the  mountain 
meadow,"  mildly  added  Countess  Brinkenstein. 

But  there  's  a  bridle-path  almost  all  the  way  up  to  the  cottage," 
replied  Walpurga.  "  And  there  's  Stasi's  husband  ;  he  's  a  for- 
ever and  knows  all  the  roads  ;  I  '11  call  him." 

She  hurried  to  the  inspector's  office  and  brought  him  out  with 
her.  He  confirmed  her  statement  that  they  could  drive  tor  a  good 
distance,  and  that  then  they  could  ride. 

The  queen  ordered  him  to  precede  them  with  saddle-horses. 
She  retired  to  her  apartments,  and  soon  afterward,  accompanied  by 
Paula,  Sixtus,  and  Walpurga,  drove  up  the  mountain.  Two  lack- 
eys were  sitting  upon  the  rumble. 

The  betrothed  of  the  man  who  had  once  loved  Irma,  and  the 
wife  of  him  whose  love  Irma  had  returned,  sat  side  by  side,  hum-- 
ing to  her  death-bed.  It  was  not  until  they  were  well  on  their 
way  that  they  regained  their  composure. 

There  was  but  little  that  Walpurga  could  tell  them  about  Irma's 
simple  life,  and  she,  therefore,  made  so  much  the  more  of  the 
uncle's  account  of  how  Irma  had  traveled  to  the  capital  with  him, 
in  disguise,  and  how,  at  the  summer  palace,  she  had  once  more 
beheld  the  queen  and  the  prince.  Her  recital  was  frequently  in- 
terrupted by  tears,  while  she  went  on  to  tell  them  how  Irma  had 
nursed  her  dying  mother,  and  how  her  mother,  who  had  known 
all,  had,  on  her  death-bed,  given  Irma  her  blessing. 

The  queen  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  silently  ex- 
tended her  hand  to  Walpurga. 

The  more  Walpurga  told  them,  the  more  pure  and  exalted  did 
Irma  appear.  Turning  to  Paula,  the  queen  said  : 

"That  is  life  in  death — it  must  have  required  inconceivable 
courage." 

"There  are  saints  even  in  our  days,"  replied  Paula.  "All  that 
olden  times  knew  of  the  great,  the  beautiful  and  the  true,  still  ex- 
ists in  the  world,  even  though  it  be  scattered  and  hidden  from 
view." 

In  the  depth  of  her  sorrow,  the  queen's  eye  beamed  with  con- 
scious delight  at  the  thought  that,  although  Gunther  was  no  longei 
with  her,  tha*  which  was  best  in  him  was  now  beside  her  in  his 
child. 

Walpurga  was  again  obliged  to  tell  them  of  that  morning  by  the 
lake.  And  then  she  went  on  to  speak  of  Irma's  beautiful  work, 
but  she  soon  noticed  that  the  queen  was  not  listening,  and  stopped. 

They  drove  on  in  silence. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  619 

They  reached  the  end  of  the  carriage  road,  and  now  continued 
the  journey  on  horseback. 

Soon  after  the  queen's  departure,  the  king  and  Bronnen  returned 
from  the  chase.  They  felt  refreshed  and  invigorated  by  the  sport, 
and  the  king  enquired  whether  the  queen  had  already  repaired  to 
the  waterfall,  for  she  had  expressed  a  desire  to  sketch  there. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Countess  Brinkenstein  was  so  em- 
barrassed that  she  almost  lost  her  presence  of  mind.  She,  of 
course,  felt  a  proper  sympathy  for  Irma,  but  as  long  as  she  had 
lived  in  concealment,  she  should  have  died  in  concealment.  Why 
should  she  thus  agitate  them  all  anew  ?  She  shook  her  head,  in 
deprecation  of  this  eccentric  being  who,  long  after  one  had  mourned 
and  forgotten  her,  was  not  even  decently  dead. 

With  faltering  voice,  she  informed  the  king  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  scarcely  ventured  to  tell  him  that,  on  her  own  re- 
sponsibility and  contrary  to  all  court  regulations,  the  queen  had 
fone  away,  attended  by  no  one  but  Paula  and  privy  councilor 
ixtus. 

For  some  moments,  the  king  neither  moved  nor  uttered  a  word, 
but  stood  there  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground.  The  very  earth 
at  his  feet  seemed  to  tremble.  Everything  seemed  unsteady  as  if 
in  an  earthquake,  and  terrors  and  despair  6verwhelmed  him. 

All  that  he  had  experienced,  during  long  years  of  suffering  and 
expiation,  now  rose  before  him  again.  He  had  striven  and  wres- 
tled and  made  sacrifices,  and  no  one  had  thanked  him  for  all  this  ; 
least  of  all  his  own  heart,  for  he  was  burdened  with  guilt  and  yet 
anxious  to  do  good,  and  forced  to  acknowledge,  in  all  humility, 
that  the  power  to  do  good  was  yet  left  him. 

Trembling  with  agitation,  he  pressed  his  clenched  hand  against 
his  brow.  His  cheeks  burned,  while  his  limbs  shook  with  a  fever- 
ish chill.  God  be  thanked,  she  still  lives  !  The  guilt  of  death  is 
lifted  from  my  soul ;  and  she,  too,  will  see  what  I  have  suffered, 
and  what  I  have  become — 

During  the  last  few  moments,  he  had  lived  the  secret  torments 
of  past  years  over  again.  He  now  looked  about  him,  as  if  emerg- 
ing from  another  world.  There  had  been  no  earthquake;  the 
trees,  the  houses,  the  mountains  still  stood  in  their  old  places.  He 
looked  at  Bronnen  and,  offering  his  icy  cold  hand,  whispered  al- 
most inaudibly : 

"  And  so  tfie  presentiment  that  you  expressed  at  the  hunting- 
seat,  is  true." 

His  voice  was  thick.  He  ordered  fresh  saddle-horses  and  a 
second  carriage  to  be  sent  after  him. 

A  few  moments  later,  Bronnen  and  he  were  following  in  the 
wake  of  the  queen. 


620  OX  THE  HEIGHTS. 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  queen  rode  up  the  mountain,  while  Walpurga  walked  on  hy 
her  side.  The  sun  was  already  sinking  in  the  west.  Its  stat- 
ing rays  shone  though  the  tree  tops  and  on  the  road  which  Guu- 
ther  and  the  little  pitchman  had  taken  on  the  night  before,  and 
there  were  now  but  few  signs  of  the  rivulets  that  had  yesterday 
traversed  the  path. 

The  queen  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  she  often  gazed  at  Wal- 
purga, and  many  old  memories  and  associations  were  awakened  in 
her  mind.  There,  walking  along  beside  me,  is  a  woman  who  was 
brought  from  her  home  at  my  request.  In  those  days,  when,  with 
the  king  and  Gunther,  I  was  sitting  under  the  weeping  ash,  I  was 
gentle  and  forgiving  towards  the  fallen,  and  Gunther  said  I  de- 
served that  thousands  should  pray  for  me.  Did  I  really  deserve  it 
then  ?  Do  I  deserve  it  now  ?  At  that  time,  no  one  had  ever  of- 
fended or  injured  me,  and  it  was  easy  to  appear  forgiving.  But  as 
soon  as  I  was  wronged,  I  gave  way  to  scorn  and  hatred,  and  pride 
in  my  own  virtue,  and  encouraged  myself  in  that  feeling.  He 
changed  his  whole  life,  put  all  that  was  trivial  and  vain  away  from 
him,  and  devoted  his  whole  mind  to  faithful  labors  for  the  sake  of 
his  people,  while  I  became  more  and  more  austere  and  inflexible 
just  because  I  was  so  virtuous.  Are  you  so  virtuous  after  all? 
What  is  the  virtue  that  lives  for  itself  alone  ?  And  she  who  erred 
so  bitterly ;  has  she  not  expiated  still  more  bitterly  ?  Sinner 
though  she  be,  she  stands  far  above  me.  She  died  for  my  sake, 
and  yet  what  has  her  death  profited  me  ?  I  have  left  my  husband 
to  achieve  his  difficult  work,  unaided  and  alone,  deserted  him  in 
the  hour  of  greatest  need.  I  have  lived  for  myself  alone,  for  to  live 
for  my  child  was  to  live  for  myself.  I  have  had  charity  for  the 
poor  and  helpless.  But  how  as  to  my  first  duty  ?  I  could  not 
conquer  myself — and  am  I  the  one  who  dares  say  that  I  am 
capable  of  the  highest,  and  "if  thine  eye  offend  thee,  pluck  it 
out  "  ?  Gunther  was  right.  No  one  can  save  you  but  yourself,  for 
no  one  else  can  so  often  tell  you  the  truth. 

During  the  many  years  in  which  she  has  been  striving  to  perfect 
herself,  and  in  which  he  has  strengthened  himself  in  noble  deeds  for 
.his  people,  what  have  I  been  doing  ?  It  is  I  who  have  sinned.  You 
shall  not  die,  Irma  !  You  must  still  live,  so  that  I  can  tell  you  that 
I  am  lost  if  you  die  without  having  forgiven  me. 

The  queen  gladly  gave  way  to  these  thoughts,  for  they  gradu- 
lly  lightened  the  burden  which  had  so  long  exerted  a  depressing 
influence  upon  her. 

"  Have  we  much  further  to  go  ?  "  she  asked  Walpurga. 

Fear  again  seized  her.  If  Irma  were  dead  !  -If  it  were  too  late 
for  the  meeting  that  would  free  them  both —  !  She  pressed  her 
hand  to  her  throbbing  heart,  as  if  it,  too,  must  cease  to  beat  when 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  62J 

the  heart  up  there  had  ceased  to  live.  In  her  mind's  eye,  she  be- 
held Irma,  as  if  glorified  and  transfigured,  while  she  herself  seemed 
so  pitifully  small. 

"  We  '11  soon  be  there,"  said  Walpurga. 

A  voice  above  was  heard,  calling : 

"  Walpurga !  " 

The  sound  was  echoed  again  and  again  from  the  mountains. 

"That 's  my  husband,"  said  Walpurga  to  the  queen  and.  in  ar 
equally  loud  voice,  she  called  out : 

"  Hansei !  " 

He  answered  again  from  above. 

Hansei  drew  near  and  when  he  saw  the  grand  gentlemen,  the 
ladies  on  horseback,  and  the  liveried  servants,  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  he 
saw  aright. 

"How  is  it  with  her?"  asked  Walpurga. 

"  She  's  still  alive,  but  she  won't  last  long.  I  left  about  an  hour 
ago,  and  who  knows  what  may  have  happened  since  then  ?  The 
doctor 's  with  her,  though." 

"  We  can't  ride  any  farther,"  said  the  inspector.  The  queen  and 
Paula  alighted.  Sixtus  and  the  servants  followed,  while  they 
climbed  the  last  hill. 

"  That 's  the  queen  there,  in  the  light  silk  shawl,"  said  Walpurga, 
addressing  Hansei,  with  a  significant  gesture. 

"  It 's  all  the  same  to  me,"  he  answered.  "  Our  Irmgard  's  better 
than  any  of  them.  What  matters  the  queen  ?  When  death  comes, 
we  're  pretty  much  the  same  all  round.  We  '11  all  of  us  have  to 
die  one  of  these  days,  and  then  it  won't  matter  what  we  've  been 
in  these  few  years." 

Bestowing  a  hurried  glance  on  Hansei,  and  beckoning  Paula  to 
remain  behind,  the  queen  hastened  forward.  She  was  unattended, 
but  yet,  at  her  right  and  her  left,  before  and  behind  her,  were  the 
spirits  of  fear  and  of  deliverance.  Fear  cried  :  "  Irma  is  dead  ; 
you  are  too  late — "  and  it  seemed  as  if  this  would  arrest  her  steps 
and  deprive  her  of  her  breath.  Deliverance  cried  :  "  Hurry  on — 
why  loiter  ?  You  are  free,  you  bring  freedom  with  you,  and  shall 
gain  freedom  for  yourself." 

She  put  forth  her  hands,  as  if  to  wave  off  the  powers  that  were 
contending  within  and  about  her. 

Fear  gained  the  mastery  and,  with  a  wailing  shriek  for  help,  she 
cried  out : 

"Irma!  Irma!"  and  "Irma,  Irma,"  was  echoed  again  and 
again  from  the  mountains.  The  whole  world  was  shouting  Irma's 
name. 

Irma  was  still  lying  within  the  room,  and  Gunther  was  sitting  at 
her  bedside.  Her  breathing  was  difficult.  She  scarcely  ever 
turned  her  head,  and  only  now  and  then  slightly  opened  her  eyes, 


622  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Gunther  had  taken  Eberhard's  note  book  with  him  and  found 
an  opportunity  to  read  these  words  of  his  to  Irma :  "  May  thig 
serve  to  enlighten  me  on  the  day  and  in  the  hour  when  my  mind 
becomes  obscured." 

When  he  read  the  words  :  "  God  yet  dwells  in  that  which,  to  us, 
seems  lost  and  ruined,"  Irma  raised  herself,  but  she  soon  leaned 
back  again  and  beckoned  him  to  proceed.  He  read  :  "  And  should 
my  eye  be  dimmed  in  death — I  have  beheld  the  eternal  one —  My 
eyes  have  penetrated  eternity.  Free  from  distortion  and  self- 
destruction,  the  immortal  spirit  soars  aloft." 

Gunther  stopped  and  laid  the  note  book  on  Irma's  bed.  She 
rested  her  hand  upon  it.  After  awhile  she  raised  her  hand  and, 
pressing  it  to  her  brow,  said,  while  she  closed  her  eyes : 

"  And  yet  he  chastised  me  !  " 

"  Whatever  he  may  have  done  to  you,  was  not  done  with  his  free, 
pure  will.  A  paroxysm,  a  relapse  into  mortality,  affected  it.  In 
the  spirit  of  your  father,  and  as  surely  as  I  hope  that  truth  may 
dwell  with  me  in  my  own  dying  hour,  I  forgive  you.  You  have 
achieved  your  own  pardon.  Forgive  him,  as  he  has  surely  forgiven 
you.  He  would  bless  you  now,  as  I  bless  you.  Remember  him 
lovingly,  for  the  sake  of  the  love  he  bore  you." 

Irma  seized  the  hand  which  Gunther  had  laid  upon  her  brow, 
and  kissed  it.  Then,  without  turning  around,  and  as  if  speaking 
to  herself,  she  said  :  "Stay  with  me,"  again  and  again. 

For  hours,  Gunther  sat  by  her  bedside.  Not  a  sound  was  heard 
but  her  painful  breathing,  which  was  gradually  becoming  more  and 
more  difficult. 

And  now,  when  the  mountains  echoed  her  name  again  and 
again,  Irma  raised  her  head  and  looked  to  right  and  left.  "  Do 
you  hear  it,  too?"  she  asked,  "My  name — voices,  voices  every- 
where !  Voices — "  The  door  opened,  and  the  queen  entered  the 
room. 

"  Oh  !  at  last  you  are  here  !  "  gasped  Irma,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
Gathering  all  the  strength  yet  left  her,  she  raised  herself  up  and 
knelt  in  the  bed.  Her  long  hair  fell  over  her,  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  a  strange  lustre.  She  folded  her  hands  and,  stretching  out 
her  arms,  she  cried,  in  heart-rending  tones  : 

"  Forgive  me  !     Forgive  me  !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  Irma  !  My  sister  !  "  sobbed  the  queen,  clasping 
Irma  in  her  arms  and  kissing  her. 

A  smile  passed  over  Irma's  face.  Then,  uttering  aloud  cry,  she 
fell  back  and  was  no  more. 

The  queen  knelt  at  her  bedside  and  Walpurga,  who  had  stood 
in  the  background,  stepped  forward  and  closed  Irma's  eyes. 

All  was  hushed.  Not  a  sound  was  heard,  save  the  sobbing  of 
the  queen  and  Walpurga. 

Steps  were  heard  approaching. 


ON  THE  HEIGHTS.  623 

"Where  ?     Where  is  she  ?  "  cried  the  king-. 

Gunther  opened  the  door  and  with  both  hands  motioned  him  to 
be  silent. 

"  Dead  !  "  cried'  the  king. 

Gunther  nodded  affirmatively.  He  beckoned  to  Walpurga,  and 
she  left  the  room  with  him. 

The  king  knelt  down  silently  beside  the  corpse. 

The  queen  arose  and,  placing  her  hand  on  her  husband's  head, 
said  : 

"Forgive  me,  Kurt,  as  I  am  forgiven  !  " 

He  seized  the  proffered  hand,  and,  hand  in  hand,  they  stood 
there  for  a  long  while,  gazing  at  Irma,  on  whose  face  there  rested 
a  gentle  smile,  even  in  death.  It  seemed  as  if  they  could  not  turn 
away  from  the  sight.  At  last,  the  queen  removed  her  white  shawl 
and  spread  it  over  Irma. 

They  left  the  hut.  The  sun  was  setting  in  purple  glory,  and  all 
about  them  was  hushed  in  silence. 

Gunther  approached  the  queen,  gave  her  the  journal  wrapped  in 
the  bandage,  and  said  :  "  This  is  Irma's  bequest  to  Your  Majesty." 

The  queen  went  up  to  Walpurga,  silently  offered  her  hand,  and 
kissed  the  child  that  she  was  carrying  in  her  arms. 

The  king  offered  his  hand  to  Hansei  and  said  :  "  I  thank  you ; 
I  shall  see  you  again." 

The  little  pitchman  went  up  to  the  king  and  queen  and  said : 

"  May  God  reward  you  for  having  come  to  her.    She  deserved  it.' 

The  king  and  queen  walked  away  in  the  direction  of  the  forest. 
Their  retinue  kept  in  the  background. 

CHAPTER     XX. 

THE  king  and  queen  went  into  the  forest. 
They  were  walking  hand  in  hand. 

Night  drew  on.     The  wind  rustled  through  the  tree-tops. 

The  queen  stood  still  for  a  moment  and  then,  impelled  by  the 
ardent  love  she  had  so  long  repressed,  embraced  her  husband, 
kissing  his  eyes,  his  mouth  and  his  brow,  and  said  : 
|  "  I  've  asked  the  departed  one  to  forgive  me  !  She  died  with  my 
kiss  on  her  lips.  I  now  ask  you  who  still  live,  to  forgive  me.  You 
have  both  expiated — she,  alone,  by  herself ;  you,  alone  while  at 
my  side  ! " 

She  tcok  out  an  amulet  which  she  had  worn  hidden  next  to  her 
heart.  It  was  the  betrothal  ring  which  the  king  had  given  to  her. 

"Take  this  ring,  and  put  it  on  your  hand,"  she  said. 

"We  are  united  anew,"  replied  the  king,  while  he  put  the  ring 
on  his  fingfT  and  embraced  the  queen.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms 
and  her  held  rested  against  his  heart. 

With  a  firm  step,  they  descended  the  mountain  unto  where  their 
carriages  were  waiting  for  them. 


624  ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Followed  by  the  servants,  Bronnen,  Sixtus,  and  Paula  also  de 
scended  the  mountain. 

The  king  and  queen  were  in  the  first  carriage  ;  Paula  and  Sixtus 
in  the  second.  Bronnen  \vent  back  with  Gunther  to  the  cottage. 

The  newly  espoused  arrived  at  the  dairy-farm.  The  first  thing 
they  did  was  to  go  to  the  crown  prince's  apartments  and,  while 
they  stood  at  the  child's  bed,  the  king  said  : 

"He. sleeps,  and  his  innocent,  infant  mind  knows  nothing  of 
our  differences.  It  is  well  for  us  that,  with  his  dawning  powers, 
he  will  see  in  us  only  love  and  harmony,  enduring  unto  death." 

During  all  that  night,  the  king  and  queen  sat  by  the  lamp,  read- 
ing the  journal  of  the  solitary  worldling. 

Gunther  and  Bronnen  had  lingered  in  the  hut  above.  Gunther 
sat  with  Walpurga  for  awhile,  holding  her  hand  in  his,  while  he  told 
her  that  her  perfect  innocence  had  now  been  brought  to  light.  A 
silent  nod  was  her  only  reply. 

The  cows  gathered  about  the  hut.  Their  bellowing  and  snort- 
ing proved  that  their  unerring  instinct  told  them  of  the  presence 
of  death,  and  scarcely  were  they  driven  away,  before  they  returned 
again. 

The  little  pitchman  dug  a  grave  during  the  night.  It  was  up  at 
the  spot  where  Irma  had  so  often  rested.  He  shed  many  a  tear 
over  his  work,  and  once,  when  he  paused  to  take  breath,  said 
to  himself:  "  When  the  kid  is  old  enough  to  run  of  itself,  I  '11  le* 
it  go  back  into  the  woods." 

Irma  was  buried  at  early  dawn.  Hansei,  the  little  pitchman, 
Gunther  and  Bronnen  carried  her,  Walpurga  and  the  child  follow- 
ing after  them.  Gundel  and  Franz  had  covered  the  sides  and  the 
bottom  of  the  grave  with  Alpine  roses.  Wrapped  in  the  queen's 
white  mantle,  Irma  was  silently  laid  to  rest,  just  as  the  rosy  dawn 
appeared  in  the  east. 

Down  in  the  valley,  the  king  and  queen  had  been  reading  Irma's 
journal.  Day  was  breaking.  They  gazed  at  the  rosy  dawn  and 
lifted  their  eyes  to  the  mountains — to  where  Irma  wras  being  buried 
on  the  hrigr  ts. 

THE    END. 


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FEB   12  1936 

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GENERAL  LIBRARY  -U.C.  BERKELI 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


